


just wanna feel his hands go down

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Rimming, Sexy Crying, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: Ryan’s grin transforms; his eyes go heavy, dark and the edges of his smile sharpen, and Shane’s heart is already beating much too quickly—he breathes in shallow.“Oh, is it—is it you that likes to get spanked, Shane?”Without any regard for modesty, Shane leaps off the couch and wrings his hands together. His blood is pumping in the wrong direction, and things are gonna get real weird, real fast.“It’s getting late,” Shane says, rounding the sofa and walking towards the kitchen, suddenly very, very thirsty.or; the one where ryan has a heavy hand
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 64
Kudos: 290





	just wanna feel his hands go down

**Author's Note:**

> i've been whining about this fic for weeks and here it is finally! this was inspired by the one watcher weekly (plus?) where ryan mentioned spanking. it's been a while since then, but we made it.
> 
> thank you to [mel](https://justcourbeau.tumblr.com/), [jess](https://sequencefairy.tumblr.com/), [levy](https://queerunsolved.tumblr.com/), [aly](https://crabsandlobsters.tumblr.com/), [luna](https://mediumboybergara.tumblr.com/), and [spence](https://heavymetalmothman.tumblr.com/) for all of your help. queens and king, all of you.
> 
> title is from hayley williams' "sudden desire". 
> 
> all typos are my own, please enjoy.

-:-

Seven o’clock always rolls around much too quickly when Shane’s in it, the computer whirring from processing the applications as he edits another video. He’s supposed to be delegating, he knows that, but it’s so much easier just to do it himself.

Besides, _Weird and/or Wonderful World_ is as much his baby as _Puppet History_ , and he figures he should show it a bout of TLC for the first time in a while.

Blinding light pours through the windows, a deep orange that forces everything to glow, illuminated with darkened golds, saturated like a bruised tangerine. 

It’s only Wednesday, and he doesn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening, but he does think about checking the movie listings for the theatre by his house to see if there’s anything Ryan would want to watch with him.

When he stands up, his spine cracks as he stretches, arms up over his head. The office is empty, and he must have missed the goodbyes of his co-workers as they filtered out, one by one, too engrossed in sound and music to have realized he’s the last man standing.

Shane leans over the back of his computer chair as he closes applications that have finished saving, still waiting for one to export a file. He watches the loading bar creep towards the end, 98% blinking back at him. His stomach growls; he’s usually better at this, but sometimes, time slips right through his fingers, and the clock in his body forgets to count the minutes, forgets to exist on this plane, and so—he misses lunch.

The door to the office opens, and Shane cranes his neck to look behind him; he finds Ryan strolling in, wiping his hands on a paper towel he subsequently tosses into the bin in the corner.

Ryan’s tugged on a sweatshirt since the last time Shane’s noticed him, a simple heather grey hoodie. He looks cozy, Shane notes. Ryan doesn’t pay him any mind and when Shane looks back to his screen, the loading bar is complete, and he closes that application, too, powering down his station.

It’s really the shock of it that attacks him first, makes him cough as he chokes on his breath. He flinches with his whole body when he feels Ryan’s hand come down against his ass. Surprise shoots up his back, settles somewhere between his shoulder blades, and propels him forward, knocking over his hydro flask and a pen cup, sending pens clattering to the floor. His entire body forgets how to work when he spins to look at Ryan, who’s already awash in a fit of giggles. Ryan’s so close, Shane clambers into him, Ryan’s hands finding his waist as he throws his head back and cackles. 

“Good game,” he says, grinning big, like he’s told a joke, or he’s inside of one Shane isn’t privy to. Shane frowns. 

“What game? There is no game,” Shane says, brow furrowed. 

Seemingly, without much thought, Ryan dismisses Shane’s assessment, and shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want to get something to eat? I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

Still pressed close to Ryan, he’s all too aware of how their bodies touch, how they suddenly fit so well together. He scrambles back, watching as Ryan’s hands fall to his sides. He digs into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out his keys. They jangle in the quiet of the office. 

“I—yeah, sure,” Shane says, mostly because this was going to be his plan anyway; coax Ryan into doing something with him because he doesn’t want to go back home and be alone quite yet. 

“Cool. You’re buying.” Ryan grabs his bag from where it had been settled somewhat halfway on top of Shane’s. He leans his hip against the desk as Shane kneels down to pick up the strewn pens, and Shane chances a glance up at Ryan. 

It isn’t often that Shane really ever looks _up_ at Ryan. Sure, it’s a joke most of the time, but here, there isn’t anything funny about the heaviness of Ryan’s gaze, how it seems to pin Shane to the ground. He doesn’t get to feel small often, but in this moment, Shane’s breathless.

Ryan is saturated in orange light, the cut of dark shadows across his face, his chest where he’s crossed his arms. If not for the sweatshirt, Shane would be able to see the cut of his arms, the definition, the blatant suggestion of strength. 

A sharp curl of _something_ cuts through his belly. Ryan blinks down at him, lips curved up into a little smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

When Shane stands up, he picks up his bag, refills the cup with its pens, and uprights his water bottle; it feels like the air has changed, and why is his heart beating so fast?

“Come on,” Ryan whines, reaching forward to wrap a hand around Shane’s wrist and tug him along. 

Whatever the moment was slowly dissipates, and whatever confusion swirling around Shane’s brain is shaken away. Ryan begins to chatter about something or other, but the faint taste of surprise still tingles along the line of Shane’s jaw, like it might will him into asking questions. 

It won’t, because Shane doesn’t ask questions, because he doesn’t want to know. Probably some frat- or sport-related this or that, and logically, Shane’s brain is okay with that. 

When they get to the elevator, Ryan lets his wrist go.

-:-

What isn’t okay with it is his body, when he’s just _this side_ of buzzed from a beer too many. 

He came home and kicked off his shoes by the door, gave Obi his well-earned pets, set some food out, refilled the water bowl, took a shower, and still. 

And still, as Shane makes his way under the rumpled, navy blue sheets, he finds that he’s still thinking about it; Ryan’s teasing voice and the way he laughed, the shock of Ryan’s hand against his asscheek. He’s still thinking about Ryan’s grin, toothy and wide, eyes glimmering with humor, his hair curling over his forehead. He’s still thinking about Ryan, and how they sat down for drinks and nachos, and how he pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and revealed his forearms, freckled from the sun. 

Shane doesn’t get it, and he doesn’t want to get it. 

As he lays his head against his pillow and closes his eyes, he shifts his shoulders against the mattress and wonders if that delightful surprise will fade from where it’s carved into the flesh between his shoulder blades. 

-:-

Life struts on, a collection of mostly low-stress days with spikes in between. Files are lost or corrupted, sound bites don’t work, general _Is this video I’m working on an actual flaming hot piece of shit_ thoughts cross through his mind here and there, but for the most part, Shane’s unscathed. 

An end of the month deadline keeps everyone focused and productive, even him. He’s started setting alarms for his lunch, instead of relying on his body to tell him when it’s time to eat. 

Shane’s just getting ready to walk out to the food truck in the parking lot when—

“Good game.” 

It doesn’t surprise him like it did the very first time; the _zing_ is familiar, and settles raucously, blossoming warm along his spine, up along the breadth of his shoulders when Ryan gives him a particularly hard smack on the ass. 

“Hey man,” Shane says as he whips his head around to look at Ryan. “What are you doing?” 

Ryan shrugs, leaning against his side of the desk. “Was gonna get—” 

“Not generally,” Shane clarifies, standing up straight. “With the ass-smacking. What—what is that?” 

“Oh, you know,” Ryan says, and no, Shane doesn’t know, which was why he spent the extra five seconds asking. 

But somehow, Ryan’s done it again, has stolen his attention away from his body’s reaction to this weird progression in their friendship, coaxing Shane down to the food truck for lunch without the explanation Shane asked for. 

Shane goes, but there’s something inherently wrong with him, maybe, with it. The Situation. 

While they eat, he spends too much time perusing Ryan’s hands, the crooked points of his fingers, the sharp corner of his thumb joint, how neat he keeps them. 

He spends too much time thinking about Ryan’s hands, and maybe, delving into thoughts of Ryan’s hands on him. Nothing _salacious_ , just a handshake, a hand on his shoulder or high on his back, resting against his spine. 

Just thoughts really, infectious, taking over Shane’s normal thought process and giving him this; brown skin covering his own where he’s pale. Hands are connected to wrists are connected to arms are connected to bodies, and bodies—

Well, Ryan’s got a body that’s _solid_. 

He puts away too much food to be chiseled like the Other Half of LA, but even then, he still maintains his strength, biceps bulging when he sets his elbows on the picnic table, shoveling food rather ungracefully into his mouth. 

And still, Shane’s looking, just looking, perusing, cataloguing, _noticing_. 

-:-

Friday nights during mid-summer are spectacular. It’s not to say heat isn’t stifling in Chicago, but it isn’t _anything_ like Los Angeles, where it gets caught in the back of Shane’s throat like a gasp. It’s something he thinks he’s used to, every single year, and it still catches him off guard. It’s easier with a cool drink and a laugh, though. Sweat gathers underneath his collar as they sit in the outdoor seating area of a bar they’ve come to frequent, different from the old _haunts_ they used to visit during their time at Buzzfeed. 

The music is loud; the bass thumps underneath Shane’s feet, and someone is talking, but Shane isn’t paying attention. He’s got his eyes focused across the room, pinned where Ryan leans over the bar with the full extension of his arms, chatting with the bartender. The shirt he’s wearing tonight looks good on him. Shane wonders if the bartender noticed the way it fits tight across his chest. Ryan leans in close like he’s going to tell her a secret, and her smile as she leans in makes Shane wonder if Ryan’s chatting her up to take her home. It’s not something Ryan usually does—take people home, that is. As unintentional as it might be, Shane’s witnessed Ryan flirting with other people; Shane can clock a blush, a head tilt, a step forward into Ryan’s space. He’s good at reading the signs when someone is interested in Ryan. 

Ryan has a smile like a hook, is the thing, and depending on how he flashes it, sometimes it’s dangerous. Most of the time, it’s a little goofy, happy, especially when he’s finished laughing after a really good joke that’s left both him and Shane in tears. 

Shane's still wondering if Ryan’s going to take her home. Chances are he won’t, because she’s working, and he’s drunk. 

Quickly, Shane pretends he wasn’t watching the whole time when Ryan turns with two drinks in his hands. He lowers his eyes to the table, notices then that he’s been sipping on the dregs of his own drink when Ryan slips him one, colored yellow, something fruity like pineapple when he takes a sip. He bumps his shoulder into Ryan’s as a thank you. Underneath the table, Ryan pats Shane’s knee. Shane freezes for a half second, before Ryan’s hand disappears. 

Immediately, like he hadn’t been gone at all, like he hadn’t been flirting with the bartender, Ryan jumps back into the conversation, laughing big and loud. 

Shane slinks away to the bathroom with Ryan’s laugh echoing in his ears. He passes by the bartender and she gives him a nod. Shane, probably awkwardly, because he’s drunk, too, nods back. 

There’s a line, so he waits, and eventually, he gets through, one hand on the wall to keep himself up. Time to go home, then. 

Why doesn’t he ever take anyone home? 

After he’s finished washing his hands, he leaves the bathroom and passes the bar again. Finds Ryan standing there again. Talking to the bartender again. He wants to say something. Maybe something funny that will get Ryan to laugh big and loud like he does, throw his head back, put a hand on his stomach, and close his eyes. He just wants to make Ryan laugh in a way he knows a stranger can’t manage, because strangers don’t know Ryan like he does. He knows Ryan, God he does. He’s spent the last five years learning all about—

“Good game.” 

The smack comes down hard, a little clumsy so it’s low on Shane’s ass, Ryan’s hand almost touching his thigh. Shane stumbles as he tries to turn around, sees Ryan’s pleased smile. He wants to say something, wants to ask why, wants to, wants to, wants to—

“Let me take you home, big guy,” Ryan says instead, and Shane’s heart is beating fast and he doesn’t know why, but it’s going, and he can’t stop it, and Ryan’s looking up at him with heavy lidded eyes, and Shane nods slowly. 

Take him home, but not _take him home_. Shane doesn’t know why he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t know why he glances up at the bartender, a pretty woman with tattoos on her upper arms and heavy black makeup on her eyes and wavy brown curls. He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s been playing a game, and somehow, he’s the winner. 

It doesn’t feel like winning when Ryan’s shoving him into the back seat of an Uber, giving the driver Shane’s address but not his own. 

Nights like this, Shane can’t—he can’t help it. Ryan is so irresistibly warm by his side, and Shane’s slumped in his seat; he leans into Ryan, listens to Ryan laugh softly. He smells good, like summer and sweat, lingering cologne, musky and spicy. Shane chases it, finds it on the collar of his shirt, on his neck. He can feel Ryan’s fingers touch him, gentle through his hair. His hand presses against the side of Shane’s neck, thumb brushing through the scruff of his jaw. Shane shivers, and there’s a thrill that buzzes through him when Ryan sets his hand on Shane’s chest, his other hand hot on Shane’s thigh. Ryan leans in, and Shane thinks Ryan might kiss him. Ryan’s eyes are so pretty. Ryan must know his eyes are pretty. 

“You have pretty eyes,” Shane mumbles, looking down at Ryan’s lips and then up to his eyes again. Ryan’s breath hitches.

“Dude, we’re so drunk,” Ryan says laughing, pushing against Shane’s chest, withdrawing his hand from Shane’s thigh. Ryan’s tone is playful, but in a way that burns, hot like rejection. Ryan’s smile slowly fades as he turns to look out of the window. 

It doesn’t feel like winning, at all.

When the driver pulls up outside of the building, and Ryan’s thanking him for the ride, Shane doesn’t know why Ryan follows him upstairs instead of going home, but he does, heavy footsteps behind him as they spill into the elevator, quietly standing next to each other as the elevator carries them up and up and up. 

Inside Shane’s apartment, he just about has the wherewithal to make sure the front door is locked after Ryan’s stepped through. The light comes on and when Shane turns around and drops his keys onto the table next to the door, he finds Ryan’s shirtless, jeans hanging low, past the elastic of his underwear digging into his hips. 

Ryan has dimples at the bottom of his spine; the desire to rest his thumbs in them is feral, all-consuming as Shane watches Ryan walk towards his bedroom with a lazy, “I hate your couch.” He feels like he’s on fire. 

Suddenly, Shane’s reminded of that feeling, sitting in a cart on a roller coaster before it’s taken off. His heart beats quick, quick, quick, and his stomach is churning, and it’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed, and it’s not the first time Ryan’s slept in _his_ bed, but he thinks about the waitress at the bar, and then the sharp _thrill_ of Ryan’s hand against his ass, how it hurt, how it surprised him. 

Begrudgingly—or grudgingly maybe, he can’t really tell—he kicks off his shoes and follows after Ryan, turning off the lights as he passes through the living room. 

In his bedroom, he spies Ryan’s jeans on the floor, the kicked-off mess of his shoes, a lump underneath the comforter on the side of the bed that’s furthest away from the windows. 

Quietly, because maybe Ryan’s fallen asleep, Shane shucks off his jeans, but leaves on his shirt, and carefully dips his weight onto the bed, underneath the comforter beside Ryan. He lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling, his brain sloshing with some sort of sexy supercut, a slideshow his brain has prepared of certain moments that make his body hot. 

It’s just brown skin and white teeth and suggestive gazes. Shane sinks into the mattress, breathing in slowly. Part nausea from the alcohol, but also, tension in his body that winds him up tight when Ryan shifts underneath the comforter, rolling into Shane. He swears he can feel the spiky brush of Ryan’s cheek on his shoulder, Ryan’s wrist against his hip, toes touching Shane’s ankle. 

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles, but he doesn’t move away, and Shane can pinpoint every part of his body that sings when they touch. 

He wonders, just before he drops into sleep, if Ryan will move closer. 

In the morning when he wakes, he has a headache and an empty bed. Maybe he’d dreamt it. Conjured it up. But to have done such a thing, his subconscious, according to intelligent brain science, must be telling him something by doing so. And instead of figuring out what, Shane ignores his subconscious, just like he ignores his headache, and goes back to sleep.

Or, at least, he tries, flipping onto his stomach, but he’s hard and the press of his hips against the mattress makes his stomach tighten. 

He reaches for the pillow under his head, shoves it underneath him, between his thighs, and rocks against it, hard and fast, thinking about—

Thinking about Ryan sleeping next to him almost naked, how maybe, had he not been so far up in his own head, he would have followed Ryan in here and gotten down on his knees, maybe. Let Ryan touch him, let Ryan do whatever he wanted to Shane.

The thought of it makes him cough out a moan, loud in the quiet of his bedroom. His fingers squeeze the pillow next to him, the one Ryan slept on, and Shane shoves his face into it. It doesn’t smell like much, not really anything, but something about it sends a jolt of arousal cutting through him as his hips rock faster, quicker, rutting hard into the pressure of his pillow, thinking about how solid Ryan is, how strong his hands are, how heavy they’d land against bare flesh—

Shane comes, shuddering, shutting his eyes, the rush flushing through him and fleeing, before the shame trickles in, dark and poisonous, heat in his face. He drops against his mattress and shuts his eyes, wishing he could go back to a time where he didn't have these explicit fantasies about wanting Ryan’s hands all over him.

When he sees Ryan that afternoon, he can’t quite meet his eyes, like if he does, Ryan might be able to discern that Shane masturbated to the imaginary scent of Ryan on his pillowcase. 

-:-

When Shane goes home that night, the usual things happen. He feeds Obi, goes for a run, has dinner, takes a shower. But when he lays down for bed, he blinks up at the ceiling, in the dark, thinking about hands on his flesh. 

This whole thing started because Ryan had some sort of compulsion to pat him on the ass. 

And Shane, for whatever reason, has been lit like a match. It’s more than just the spanking in passing. 

Maybe. 

Shane won’t allow himself further introspection of his deepest desires, because as far as he knows, he doesn't have any. He wills himself not to have any. But that night he thinks about it, and he’s hard in his briefs. He doesn't do anything about it at first, just lays there with an ache in his belly, thoughts swimming about hands and skin. 

Hands around his wrists, a plush, red mouth. A cocky grin.

He turns over on his stomach, hard, wet, with the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. 

He gets up onto his hands and knees and just. 

Just imagines. 

Shane allows gravity to gradually pull him down into the mattress, arms slumping, cock throbbing between his thighs as he keeps himself up on his knees. 

Instinct tells him to curve his spine, widen the stance of his legs. He shivers, thinks about a hand along his spine, pushing, pressing him down. He thinks maybe he’d like to feel the hot smack of a hand on his backside while someone slid inside of him. While someone _fucked_ him. 

The thought startles him enough that he groans into his pillow, and he lets his body fall, fingers grasping at the sheets as his knees slip over the mattress, lying prone on top of his bed. 

He rolls his hips forward, slow, hard. He pants into his pillowcase. Desperation trickles through him and his whole body trembles. 

The second he’s close, he stops cold, flipping onto his back. He spreads his legs, feels the thrill vibrating in his thighs. His back arches as the fabric of his underwear shifts over his cock. He bites back the moan, heat at the back of his neck. He can imagine the pain, the fiery burst of heat over his backside, blooming into a dull throb. God, he can imagine it flourish, rushing up his spine, settling on his shoulders. 

Shane grinds the palm of his hand over the hard line of his cock. 

He doesn't know what it means, that when he comes, he thinks about Ryan combing his fingers through his hair. 

The next day is Sunday, so for a moment, he’s safe from this peculiar fantasy that’s plaguing him. Or, rather, he’s safe from the possibility of bursting at the seams the next time Ryan tries to spank him.

He spends his time lazing around, wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, petting Obi when he comes to lay across Shane's lap for attention. 

Ryan does reach out for something silly; a joke, a meme, a photograph of the puppies at his mom’s house. Shane entertains him, because that’s what Shane does, and then, he makes himself dinner, some calming tea, and sends himself to bed. 

The fantasy creeps into his mind, and this time, as he closes his fingers around himself, stroking quick and tight, he thinks it probably isn't going to stop until his body is satisfied. 

When he’s done, lying in a fit of restless shame, he realizes it’s going to be a problem. 

-:-

To his dismay, Shane finds himself sitting on his couch Wednesday evening with his laptop open, scrolling through listings of sex toys. Sex toys because he’s curious, and the only bodies he’s ever touched have been those of women. Women who were small underneath him, on top of him. Women he fucked missionary, and women who rode him because Shane doesn’t mind relinquishing control in the bedroom. 

Not that he was much for control at all, but he’s curious now. And he doesn’t know where to start and a lot of the toys on this website are daunting, intimidating, with names that make him shudder. 

No, he doesn’t want to stick something called The Destroyer up inside him. 

Well...

Actually, no. 

So, he keeps scrolling, filtering through the options by size. The rest afterwards is just preference. 

He stays up much too late, looking through help articles, and taking tips into account. 

In the end, he decides on one silicone dildo, takes the chance on pink. He eyes the plugs, but he isn’t having sex with anyone, so they seem useless. 

There’s a nudge at the back of his mind that, well, maybe he could be. Just maybe he might. And since, you know, he lives by the seat of his pants, he picks out a starter pack just for giggles and grins. 

Although, he supposes, if he’s doing it correctly, he won’t be giggling much. 

Well. Do people giggle during sex? Sex has always been sort of serious with the few partners he’s been to bed with. Just naked sighing, moaning, eye contact if the lights are on, but never any _laughing_.

He wonders—

Well, he wonders if Ryan giggles during sex. He wonders if he laughs, if he does that thing in movies where he smiles into the flesh of his partner’s shoulder. He wonders if Ryan’s made his girlfriends giggle. 

For some reason, Shane glances around like someone might be watching him before he thinks his next thought. 

Could Ryan make him giggle during sex? 

As best as he can, while processing his order, he tries to put the thought out of his mind, but it’s tumultuously difficult, thinking about Ryan’s breathy wheeze against his skin. He wishes he was brave enough to ask. Is that something a friend would ask? 

_Hey, you ever make people laugh while you fuck them?_

It seems ludicrous to even entertain the idea of the words coming out his mouth. Too many dollars later, clicking _submit order_ , he pushes the thought out of his mind and focuses on the television. 

-:-

The package is on his doorstep when Shane gets home a few days later; plain cardboard brown with a nondescript label made out to him. Shane sighs and debates leaving it there rather than bringing it inside with him. He steps past it when he walks inside, leaving it behind on his doorstep, and closing the door behind him.

Shane stands in his doorway, thinking about the amount of money he spent on the contents of that box, and he’d hate for it to be taken by some stranger who isn’t expecting sex toys. It’d be their fault for stealing anyway, but—the _risk_.

Quickly, he opens the door, grabs the package, and shuts it a little harder than he means to. He can hear Obi scurry away, bolting down the hallway. He drops the package on the couch and makes his way into the kitchen, where Obi waits by his bowl. He scoops food for him and makes himself something to eat, too high strung to—

Think, really. It’s too early to shut himself into his bedroom, and he’s afraid he’s going to do something, and it’ll be obvious, and everyone will know. It’s stupid; he realizes that, but he’s already inside of his own head about it—he’s not sure he’ll be able to get out now, or even relax enough to touch himself with the patience he feels like he deserves.

He leaves the food he makes on the counter and decides to go run about it instead.

-:-

The leaves are changing. Summer still lingers, hot and sticky, clinging to Shane’s flesh as he stomps along the sidewalk, panting his breath.

More than anything, he’d like to define the feeling. He’d like to put a name to it, so he can avoid it. So he can tuck it away into an undefined corner of his mind, walk away and lose the directions, so it doesn’t feel so goddamned heavy to carry all the time. He’d really like to drop it, to let it go. To feel weightless.

He knows better. He does. Because it already has a name. He’s just too afraid to say it, to admit it, because then he’ll have to deal with that, too.

It’s fine. It’ll pass. Every emotion he’s ever had has come and gone and for the most part, and he’s standing up just fine. Avoiding things has brought him this far.

And yet, he knows he’ll go home, and he’ll shower, and the thoughts will creep up from the back of his head and settle at the forefront. It’ll be all he can think about, this stark, bright _powerful_ desire to submit. It’s an ache almost, how badly he wants to be touched.

He doesn’t know where it’s come from. Somewhere—

Somewhere along the line of his life, a culmination of moments has given him this quality. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a cheat code to modify his character traits. Truly poor character design, really.

He’s dripping sweat by the time he gets home. Obi comes up to him, orange and fluffy, and Shane leans down to pick him up, cradle him against his chest, and pet the top of his head.

“World’s weird, isn’t it, Obi?” 

-:-

Shane’s made sure to close his bedroom door. He’s brought a towel with him, the lube, and himself, fresh from the shower. He doesn’t have the nerve to break out the toys just yet. His curiosity sits first with his fingers, how deep he’d be able to get them inside of himself, whether he should kneel on his bed with his thighs spread and reach behind himself, or if he should lay on his back, the way he’s seen women get themselves off. 

He sets the towel across the middle of the bed where he’s decided he’s going to lay, so he doesn’t have to change his sheets later, and takes a deep breath. He isn’t sure if he should watch porn or not and figures his mind has been enough for him as of late.

Naked, he climbs into bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes. 

It’s quiet in the room, but he allows his mind to wander, to turn him on. Any other time, he would have conjured up the concave curve of a woman’s waist, then imagined the soft flesh of her thighs, tits he’d press his hands against, the heat of her wet cunt. All the things about a woman he’s attracted to. 

Considering recent developments, he allows his mind to wander where it hasn’t before. He’s never really found himself attracted to men, and if he has, it’s fleeting, nothing he’s ever quite done anything with. But here, his curiosity takes him by the shoulders and spins him around and gives him the opportunity to look the other way. He conjures up images of pectorals and sharp V lines of a man’s hips. He imagines hands touching him, using his own hands to feel something like it, over his chest, pinching his nipples until it hurts a little bit. 

Shane breathes out slowly, drags his hands down the front of his body, fingertips gentle over his stomach, the front of his hips, the insides of his thighs. 

This body—it’s familiar. In his mind, it’s brown skin and tan lines on his shoulders. It’s thick muscles and sturdiness, the flex of biceps. Skinny legs because this specific body skips leg day. 

He smiles to himself, doesn’t shake loose the image of this body. This body doesn’t have a face for right now, just a blur, and—and that’s all Shane can handle. But dark hair with a penchant for curling gives him away. Shane keeps it a secret for himself. 

His heart ticks in his chest and there’s the heat of arousal, trickling all throughout his body, settling low in his stomach. Naturally, he grasps a hand around himself, hardening fully, the throb in his cock matching the quick thrum of his heartbeat. 

Shane strokes himself languidly; he’s too dry to really do anything but tease. The pressure of his thumb against the top of his shaft makes him shiver. He huffs a quiet breath, pulling his hand away, to grasp his balls, and then wander lower. 

There’s a _zing_ that spikes through his body when he presses a fingertip against himself. He blinks his eyes open, finds the ceiling through his blurry vision. He gropes along the mattress for the bottle of lube, steadying his breathing, widening his thighs, and planting his heels against the mattress. He wets his fingers liberally, lube dripping onto his stomach. 

Closing his eyes again, he sets his fingertips against himself, rubbing small little circles that make his cock twitch. 

Slowly, he slips one in and makes a soft noise, a small, “Oh.” 

It’s okay, it’s good. It’s—it’s what he wanted, nothing like he thought it would feel. He lets himself fall back into the fantasy, imagines they’re someone else’s fingers inside of him, sinking in slowly, drawing out, and then back in again. 

Far too quickly, the desire for more hits him hard, and he tries for it, withdrawing his finger, and then slowly sinking two inside and his breath catches and his, “ _Oh_ ,” is so much more drawn out, louder, much more satisfied.

 _Do you like that?_ his mind asks him, in a voice so familiar it startles him, sets fire across his shoulders, his chest, his _face_. _This what you need, sweetheart?_

Shane bows in on himself, curling his fingers, knowing there’s something to search for, but not paying too much attention; the stretch is good, the ache, the gentle burn. The wet slide of his fingers inside of himself; he licks the palm of his right hand and wraps his hand around his cock and strokes. 

And then the fantasy breaks. It breaks wide open, and he feels overstimulated, too much happening to keep his guard up and he sees it on the backs of his eyelids: Ryan's body over him, sweaty and hot. He pushes his fingers inside as deep as they’ll go, like it might feel like Ryan’s cock filling him up. It doesn’t, God it doesn’t, but it tips him over anyway, the rush of arousal that bursts into electricity, coursing through his body, and he spills all over himself, hard enough that his toes curl and his back arches. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” he breathes. 

-:-

Shame seems to leave him alone tonight; he sits on the edge of his bed and hates that he feels like he’s had a sip of water after days in a desert. It only serves to make him want more of it. 

Over the course of the next few nights, he gets comfortable with his fingers, using two hands to masturbate, touching himself until he’s got tears in his eyes. He enjoys it so much, he can’t imagine not fucking himself this way, a bit like he’s ruined it. 

-:-

After work on a Thursday, Shane invites Ryan for a movie at his place. It’s clumsy, like he’s never asked Ryan to accompany him anywhere ever, and Ryan gives him an odd look. 

“You okay, man?” he asks, touching Shane’s shoulder with a gentle hand, displaying concern Shane wants to bypass. Shane pretends like he can’t feel the heat from the heavy weight of his hand through his t-shirt. 

“All good. You in?” Shane says, mentally unplugging his brain and plugging it back in. 

“Sure, yeah,” Ryan agrees, turning back to his monitor. Shane does the same, and that’s that, he supposes. 

They walk out of the office together and Shane gets in Ryan’s car and like a switch, Shane puts all of his confusing emotions away and listens to Ryan talk about this, that, and the other. Maybe he’ll get better at this. Maybe he can _get over_ this. Just maybe, Ryan won’t overtake his mind, and he’ll be able to date someone else, someone available, someone who wants Shane just as much as Shane wants them. 

Stopped at a traffic light, Shane turns his head to look at Ryan. It’s disgusting the way his mind sees him, haloed by late afternoon light, deep dark golds accentuating Ryan’s skin. Ryan glances over at him and gives him a gentle smile. Over the console, he reaches out and touches Shane’s forearm, the drift of his fingers making Shane’s flesh raise. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Ryan asks him, brow furrowed. 

Shane nods. “Cross my heart,” he says. The look on Ryan’s face tells Shane he doesn’t believe him, but there’s nothing Shane can do about that. 

-:-

Up in Shane’s apartment, Ryan makes himself comfortable on the couch, shoes off, hoodie draped over the seatback of the sofa, legs crisscrossed. Shane busies himself making popcorn after he’s fed Obi and kicked off his own shoes. 

The movie they watch takes an expected, dramatically sensual turn. The man touches the woman with practiced ease, and she falls into it; their bodies collide the way bodies in films do. Perfectly, without fumbling or guessing, no questions to be asked when desire burns this hot. It makes Shane sigh, bored of the display, so choreographed in its portrayal. It’s not even integral to the story--most sex scenes in films aren’t.

Of course, though, because this is Shane’s life, and Shane’s life comes with a healthy dose of irony, the woman is on her knees, dressed in skimpy, sexy lace, toes curled as the man smacks his hand full on her ass. The sound of it makes Shane’s face grow hot much too quickly, but he keeps his eyes on the screen, keeps his attention sharp and focused, and tries so, _so_ hard not to glance at Ryan, to look down at where his hands are laced up at the fingers over his belly.

Obviously, he isn’t successful, and when he does take a proper look, Ryan’s grinning. It makes Shane’s stomach flip, pumps his heart full of adrenaline and kicks it forward, sending it racing.

“Dude,” Ryan says lowly, almost secretly. He doesn’t look at Shane. “I remember the first time a girl asked for it. All _spank me, please_. I’d never done it, of course, always thought it was kinda rude. But the second I smacked her ass, her body, like—she was _tight_ —” Ryan looks up at him, and Shane blinks at him. Ryan’s lips curl into that godforsaken grin; too many teeth to be innocent. “She kept askin’, so I kept givin’ it to her. She—her ass was so red. _Red_ red. We laughed about it afterwards, joked about how she’d have my handprint on her for a while.”

Ryan turns back to look at the television. The scene has come and gone, and Shane’s sitting there stunned, watching Ryan sit in nonchalance.

It’s not that they’ve never talked about sex. Shane knows things. Maybe too many things. And now, another to add to the pile, that apparently, Ryan has a thing for doling out spanks.

And isn’t that just the most convenient detail for Shane to learn, when his body yearns to be laid out and ruined, to wear the color red like a scarlet letter.

How easy would it be for Shane to stretch out his legs and slump over Ryan’s lap, lay himself across Ryan’s thighs and let Ryan make it rain spanks until he’s sore and hard, shaking from how badly he wants to come?

So easy, he thinks.

“Have you?” Ryan’s voice cuts through his reverie, shatters it and brings him back to reality. Shane blinks at Ryan, shifting, careful not to shift too much and give himself away. 

“Uh, well—”

Ryan’s grin transforms; his eyes go heavy, dark and the edges of his smile sharpen, and Shane’s heart is already beating much too quickly—he breathes in shallow.

“Oh, is it—is it you that likes to get spanked, Shane?”

Without any regard for modesty, Shane leaps off the couch and wrings his hands together. His blood is pumping in the wrong direction, and things are gonna get real weird, real fast.

“It’s getting late,” Shane says, rounding the sofa and walking towards the kitchen, suddenly very, very thirsty.

“Shane—”

Shane opens the refrigerator, peers unseeing inside, and just stares; out of his peripheral, he can see Ryan walk inside, leaning against the door jamb.

“I was only joking,” Ryan says gently, keeping his space, leaving Shane to blink at the gallon of milk down on the second shelf. He glances at the eggs.

“Didn’t you say you have to be up early or something?” Shane wonders, closing the fridge and taking a chance that he might find some sanity in the cupboard where he keeps his drink glasses.

“No?” Ryan says, his tone confused.

Turns out, Shane must’ve left sanity off his shopping list. He closes the cupboard door.

“What—I really didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t, I just—” Shane huffs something like a laugh, but it’s too self-deprecating. He combs his fingers through his hair.

“Is this—is it like a thing for you?” Ryan tries. Shane raises his eyebrows.

“Is what a thing?”

“Spanking?”

“What about it?”

“Is it a thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, so his biceps bulge, and for the love of every God poor human fool has invented, he’s being tested.

“What?”

“Do you want to be spanked? Is that why you ran away to hide away in—what—your fridge?”

“Obviously, I’m not hiding. Just thirsty.”

“Oh, I’ll _bet_ ,” Ryan says, his voice smarmy, grating against Shane’s nerves. He takes a deep breath.

“Shut up.”

“I just want to know if it’s a thing. It’s okay if it is.”

“Is it now? What are you? The kink police?” Shane retorts, a little mean with the way he snarls the words.

Ryan stands in his doorway, eyebrows raised, letting his arms fall to his sides. “I realize I pushed a button, and before you get anymore bent outta shape, I’m gonna go,” Ryan says coolly, turning around and leaving the kitchen. Shane waits for the front door to open and close. It does just that. 

He breathes out and leans both palms against the kitchen counter, hanging his head.

 _The kink police_. God, what a stupid thing to say to the object of his one desire.

Shane nudges a lower cabinet with his toes, shaking his head. He can still hear the movie playing, and because he’s ruined the whole night, Shane leaves the kitchen to turn it off and send his sorry ass to bed.

When he walks into the living room, he all but shits his heart, when he finds Ryan standing in the middle of the living room. He looks—persistent.

“Ryan—”

“I want to talk about it,” Ryan explains.

“What in the actual fuck makes you think I want to talk about this?” Shane blinks at him. 

Ryan breathes in. “Dunno, I’m curious, though.”

“Curious about what?”

“Why, I guess.”

“ _Why_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Ryan_ —”

“We can talk about these things, right?” Ryan stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

“ _You_ can talk about these things. I would rather be struck by lightning,” Shane mutters. 

“I _do_ talk about these things. You know things about me and sex.”

Shane doesn’t like the way he’s said it, how it’s so matter of fact. Despite its truth, it’s bullshit. “Yeah, so? You’re the one offering up details unprompted.” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at the floor. He spares a glance towards Ryan. 

“So, tell me about yours. Did some chick spank you once and now you can’t come unless your ass is raw?”

“Oh, my _God_.”

Shane, subjected to this torture, and for some reason allowing it, sits on the sofa, elbows perched on his knees, head in his hands.

“Well?” Ryan presses. Slowly, Shane can see his shadow cross the living room space, and then Ryan’s sitting next to him.

“Well nothing. You’re gonna keep tossing theories until you think one sticks. You’ll find your Roanoke zombie plague theory and I will force myself to endure it and not throttle you.”

“You just got real jumpy all of a sudden. What’s the deal with that?” Ryan wonders. 

“Nothing. Obviously, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Ryan says finally, his voice quiet and tender. “We can just watch the movie.”

Tension still swirls inside of Shane, and he looks up at the television, trying to jump back into the story. It doesn’t work; he’s much too aware of Ryan sitting next to him. If he knows anything about Ryan, he knows that Ryan will be thinking about this. And he won’t stop thinking about it until he’s made something of it, and it’s very unfortunate for Shane, because he knows, eventually, the subject will rear its ugly head and Ryan will attempt to talk about it again. 

His stomach hurts now, and Shane shifts on the couch, bringing his legs up to cross them. His knee brushes against Ryan’s leg, and Ryan’s hand touches settles onto his thigh, gentle and--maybe Ryan meant to ease Shane back into comfort, but it doesn’t work and Shane’s whole body locks up. 

“Relax, Shane,” Ryan says, not at all looking at him, attention still on the TV. Shane—

Well, it’s not a command, not really, but his body responds to Ryan’s words, and he leans his weight against the seatback. The tension eases, enough that Shane doesn’t feel like crawling out of his skin as they finish the film. 

Ryan keeps his hand on Shane’s thigh for the rest of the night. 

-:- 

It’s just after noon on a Tuesday when Ryan walks by him. Shane should know better than to lean over his desk chair to address the situation on his computer, and had he chosen to sit, the subsequent chain of events might not have ever happened.

As it goes, Ryan walks by him and Shane anticipates it, the smack on his ass and the _good game_ , but it never comes. When Shane turns to look at Ryan, Ryan’s frozen, like the Matrix has glitched, the simulation paused, his hand in the air, staring at Shane with that deer-in-the-headlights, I-know-why-you-wanna-be-spanked look.

Shane, because there isn’t anything else he can do, just sighs.

“Oh.” Ryan’s epiphany is quiet, and Shane feels too open, too vulnerable, like someone’s taken a handsaw to his skull, his grey matter just there for poking. 

“Ryan—”

“I see.” Ryan drops his hand, so he’s just standing there, staring at Shane. 

“You don’t _see_ anything,” Shane presses.

“No, I do,” Ryan says.

“So unsee it, then.” 

Ryan clears his throat. “I can’t. And—“ Ryan blinks and shifts his weight. He crosses his arms over his chest. Shane tries to resist allowing his eyes to drop where Ryan’s biceps bulge, stretching the sleeves of his shirt. It teases Shane’s heart. “And I don’t think you want me to. Not really.” 

“ _Yes_ , really.” Shane stands up, but his shoulders are hunched, because he knows there isn’t a way out of it this time. He’s already defeated, not that he puts up a fight for anything anyway. Part of him doesn’t want to fight Ryan on it. But the other part of him, the part of his brain that’s navigated him through life up until this specific moment really, really wants to run. 

“Let’s get some food,” Ryan says. 

“Not really hungry.” Shane turns back to his screen, but Ryan catches his arm. His hand is strong around his wrist, fingers closing around flesh and bone, and it sends a shiver through him. 

“Some drinks, then. Something. I—“ 

Turning around, Shane looks at Ryan, really looks at him. His eyes are wondrous, big, searching Shane like he might find answers, like he knows Shane is going to spend time dodging Ryan’s questions. His eyelashes are so dark. Ryan _must_ know he has pretty eyes. 

“Fine.” Shane’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Fine, come on.” 

-:-

They end up somewhere downtown, where tacos are served on soft corn tortillas, smothered in cilantro and onions. Ryan dumps hot sauce onto his own, washing it down with a green colored Jarritos. Shane picks at his plate. 

“You should eat,” Ryan coaxes, his voice gentle, and it happens again; not a command, but Shane clears his throat, and begins to make his way through his dish. 

Shane tries to ignore the weight of Ryan’s attention, knowing Ryan’s waiting for the moment where he can start the conversation. Every time Shane looks up, Ryan’s already watching him. He can feel himself flush from it, all over his face, down his neck. If his toes have the capacity to blush, they’re blushin’. 

When they’re a beer in each, tacos properly demolished, Ryan sits back in his seat, rubbing his belly. It’s so stupid and Shane hates it. But he’s endeared. 

“So,” Ryan starts, stacking their plates and moving them to the end of the table. “You _do_ want to be spanked.” 

“Well—”

“And you want _me_ to do the spanking.” Ryan’s grin flourishes in slow motion.

“That’s.” _Not true_ , Shane wants to say, but Ryan will call bullshit, because it _is_ bullshit. Shane rubs his face with his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He clasps his fingers and lays his hands against his lap.

“What to do, what to do,” Ryan muses, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. Shane’s eyes linger on the collar of Ryan’s shirt, some insane desire tingling at the tips of his fingers to yank it, to expose his collarbones. He tightens his fingers around themselves, looking away. 

“What makes you think anything needs to be done?” Shane asks. 

“Obviously, this is something that you’re, like, into. We can be into it together,” Ryan reasons. 

“And what? Be some awkward friends with benefits? Fuck no,” Shane balks. 

“So what? You're just gonna go get some dick from a stranger? At least my dick is attached to your best friend.” And there’s that grin again, self-satisfied. Smug. 

“Ryan, this is...this is a serious matter,” he murmurs. Ryan’s grin fades into a gentler curve of his lips. 

“And I'm seriously offering to—what? Spank you? Fuck you?” Ryan shrugs his shoulders. “Could hold your hand while you cry.” 

Shane doesn't want to smile, but he can't help it. It creeps at the corner of his mouth. 

“Make some sweet, sweet love.” Ryan’s grin is full force, charged by ideations of sex, electricity coursing through Shane just looking at him. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane huffs, but he laughs. 

“Whatever you want, dude,” Ryan says earnestly. 

“Have you ever even—“

“Been with a guy?” Ryan eyes Shane carefully, and the breath is stuck in his throat. “Yeah, Shane. I have.” 

Shane’s breath gets caught in the back of his throat, and all he can do is breathe, “Oh.” 

“Do you want me to tell you about it?”

Shane shakes his head, looks down at the table. His stomach sours, the sudden spike of—jealousy?—something making his skin feel tight. 

“Have _you_ been with a guy?” Ryan asks, arching his brow. 

“Nope,” Shane says easily, busying his hands with a straw wrapper. 

“Do you want to be?” 

“I—” _yes_ , he wants to say. _Yes, and I want it to be you._ But of course, he could say no such thing, and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not—it’s not a thing.” 

“It’s okay if it is, Shane. We all have a thing.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s your thing then?” Shane snaps before he can stop himself. 

Ryan grins, and Shane hates the way his body responds, the sharp cut of arousal through his abdomen, the rush of his heartbeat. 

“Sometimes,” Ryan says quietly. “I like when someone with a strong hand chokes me. Not the whole time. Just like—right before I come.” 

Shane forces himself not to widen his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter who it is. A girl could ride me, put her hand around my neck. Could have a guy up against the wall—” 

“I don't like you and all this—what did you call it? Sex Snapple? I don’t like you being the sex Snapple.” 

“Maybe the true sex Snapple was the friend we made along the way, Shane.” Ryan gives Shane a wiggle of his eyebrows, and Shane clears his throat. 

“Just. you know. I gotta think about it.” 

“Sorry I don't have a resume. Or, like, references. But I know what I'm doing, and—you're my friend.” 

Ah yes, and isn’t that the conundrum? 

“You realize, friends don’t have sex with their friends and remain friends after, right?” Shane snips, immediately feeling bad about it. 

“We’ve never followed any rules of physics or whatever. You think we’re gonna start now?” Ryan smiles, reaches a hand over the table. He presses two fingers to the inside of Shane’s wrist. Shane doesn't say anything, just watches the way Ryan’s hand opens around his wrist, fingers closing around it. Shane flexes his fingers.

When Shane looks up, Ryan's face is serious, looking down at where he’s set his hand. 

“What?” Shane asks. 

Ryan looks up, his eyes glittering underneath fluorescents. “Hmm?” 

“You're thinking.” 

“I'm just—I don't ever get to learn about you like this. I hope you know there’s no shame in wanting things.” 

Oh, but there is, Shane wants to say. There's so much shame, because it’s temporary, this. Ryan. Eventually, the novelty of learning something new about Shane, and possibly doing something about it, will wear off, and Ryan will find something else, something shinier and _prettier_ —

“I like learning about you. All these weird things that make me understand you better. You have to know I want to understand you, Shane,” Ryan says gently. 

It's a confession much too soft underneath the garish light of the Mexican restaurant, much too soft, nearly drowned out by street noise and songs Shane doesn't know the lyrics to. 

Shane takes a deep breath. Ryan lets go of his wrist, but rather than rescind completely, he twists the position of his hand so he can close his fingers between the spaces of Shane’s so, really, they're holding hands over the tabletop, and—

Much too soft. 

Shane indulges, though, because it’s easier than denying himself the simple pleasure of Ryan’s hand in his own. 

“So,” Ryan says, smiling. “Spanking.” 

“Jesus, Ryan. You can’t say that word anymore. It’s not allowed.” 

“If I look up synonyms, you're gonna be disappointed,” Ryan teases, a thinly-veiled threat. Shane doesn't say anything; Ryan's still holding his hand, and Shane's so conscious of it, like every nerve ending in his body is concentrating on the warm touch of Ryan's palm, his fingers. 

Ryan pulls his phone out and taps and Shane hangs his head. 

“Oh,” Ryan awes, “‘Take a licking’. Say, big guy—“

“Don't do it, Ryan, for the love of God.” 

“—you ever get your ass eaten?” 

Shane yanks his hand out of Ryan’s and Ryan cackles much too loud, and Shane feels his face burn and—Ryan’s looking at him, though, and he’s reminded of bodies in film, the scenes right before the sex, the tension. Ryan calms from his wild laughter and he’s looking at Shane, and Shane feels zeroed in on. Too much attention, and yet, there’s something about it. There’s something about being looked at in this light that he might be able to allow himself to enjoy. 

“I hate you,” Shane says, instead, and Ryan's grin sharpens. 

“You don’t, though,” Ryan says, low. “You wanna be spanked while I've got my cock inside you.” 

Shane's heart gets caught right in his throat. “ _Ryan_.” 

Ryan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't press it. “We should get going.” 

He stands up and Shane takes his lead. He follows Ryan out to the sidewalk where he’s parked and automatically stands next to the passenger side, waiting for Ryan to unlock the car. 

Ryan doesn’t make it over to the driver’s side, instead just watches Shane, cocking his head to the side, keys jingling in his hand. “So, when are we gonna—“ 

“I never said yes to that,” Shane says coolly. 

“Shane—” 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me, Ryan. Whatever I'm worked up about, I'll get over. Which means you gotta let it go. No more jokes, no more talking about it, no more—“ 

“Shane—“ Ryan tries again, but Shane shakes his head.

“I can't, Ryan. Stuff like this--it never ends well. And it's not in any of my interests to lose you as a friend, just to scratch an itch that I can have scratched by someone else.”

Ryan stands up straight, to his full height. And then he laughs. “Yeah, I'm not taking that for an answer.” 

“You _literally_ have to.”

“Nah.”

“What do you mean, ‘nah’?” 

“I mean, it's not like you're the only one in this. Sure, my fantasies were not curated around the spanking thing, mostly just—“

“Fantasies?” Shane nearly gasps.

“Shane, you can’t be so dense to think I don’t want to fuck you as badly as you wanna fuck me.” Ryan takes a step forward, and Shane attempts to step back, but he’s already pressed up against the door of the car, so there isn’t anywhere for him to look. He swallows thickly. 

“ _Well_ , I'm dumber than I look.” 

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to tell you that people don’t usually offer to have sex with other people unless they want to, dude. And I _want_ to.” 

When Shane doesn't say anything, Ryan grins. 

“I like that I can make you speechless.” 

“You don't have to look so smug about it.” 

Ryan crowds into Shane's space, then. Shane still has to look down, but he can feel that Ryan has the upper hand. “Get out of your head about it.” Ryan touches him, hands on his stomach between their bodies, and Shane's flesh ignites with heat that makes him want to beg. “Do you want to invite me home, so I can bend you over and spank you til you’re hard, til you’re begging me to fuck you?”

Staring at Ryan, all he can do is open his mouth, but nothing comes out, even though all he wants to say is _yes, yes, yes_. He shudders, and Ryan reaches up with his hand, touches his thumb to Shane's bottom lip. 

“Maybe I'll let you get me all wet first, see how good you are with a cock in your mouth,” Ryan murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded. 

“ _Ryan_ , Jesus,” Shane huffs. 

“Isn't that what you want?”

Ryan's gaze is expectant and heavy, there’s really only one answer he can give Ryan. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. 

“Good. Get in the car, I’ll take you home.” 

-:-

Shane thinks if he opens his mouth, he’s going to say something stupid, so he lets the silence fill the car, nothing but road noise and the jingle of Ryan’s keys hanging from the ignition. The clicking of the indicator light when Ryan switches lanes, the whirr of the A/C. Usually, Ryan would fill the space with chatter, but Shane’s grateful that just this once, Ryan doesn’t feel the need to say anything at all. Anticipation keeps Shane’s mind occupied anyway, imagining what it might feel like to feel the strength of Ryan’s hands on his body, around his wrists and on his thighs, the burn when Ryan brings the weight of them down on bare skin. 

When they arrive at Shane's building, Ryan idles rather than parks. 

“Uh? Are you coming in?” Shane asks. 

“Not tonight,” Ryan says with a light laugh. 

Shane blinks, shifting in his seat, wondering what had happened between their conversation at the restaurant and now. “What?” 

“Next time,” he promises gently. 

“Wait, what do you mean, next time?” 

Ryan levels Shane with a look. “Dude, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, and we have a shoot in the morning. I’m being considerate.” 

“Fuck you and your consideration,” Shane rushes to say, before sighing. “Also, good call.” 

Ryan’s laughter is bright. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Shane says, fingers grasping the door handle, hesitating. He looks at Ryan, and Ryan gives him a smile so familiar it’s jarring. His mind has to fight to reconcile the Ryan that’s agreed for some reason to fuck him, with the same Ryan who made him keep time at three in the morning so he’d calm down from fear so heightened it wouldn’t allow him to sleep. 

What he wants right now is for Ryan to lean over the console and kiss him. He looks at Ryan and Ryan lifts his hand, just to touch his face, cup his chin, swipe his thumb over his bottom lip again. Shane shivers. 

“Have a good night, Shane,” Ryan says quietly, matter-of-factly, pulling his hand away. Shane pulls on the door handle and lets himself out. 

-:-

They do in fact have a shoot. It’s just Watcher Weekly, but even as he walks into the office, he’s grateful that Ryan’s got a good head on his shoulders and didn’t give into the all-encompassing horniness Shane is drowning in each time he’s in Ryan’s vicinity. 

The problem is, he’s never quite felt it this concentrated. Sure, he’s been in love, into and attracted to the person he was dating. But maybe because it’s Ryan. Because Ryan’s a guy. Because Ryan’s a guy who knows what he likes, what Shane likes, what Shane would like to happen. And wants it, too. 

When Shane sits at his desk, Ryan’s plugged into his station, headphones on, programs flashing, but he still takes the few seconds to take off one side of his headphones and give Shane a softened morning smile, Shane’s favorite, really, accompanied by coffee and sunlight and gentle clatter of the office’s morning attributes. 

Shane stands and announces what he’s working on when it’s his turn, and then they shoot the episode. 

When Shane’s done for the day, he spots Ryan standing in the corner with Steven, brow furrowed and mouth downturned like they might be arguing. Shane knows better than to insert himself, so he doesn’t, even though he really wants to, just so he can talk to Ryan. About. 

He doesn’t know what about really. Only that they agreed to something, but he doesn’t know the terms, and he would really like to know the terms. Conditions, too, if there are any. 

Standard text messaging rates may apply and all that jazz. 

Instead, Shane goes home, and feeds Obi, and hits the pavement, running so hard his knees ache afterwards. 

After he’s showered and wound down for the night, sitting on his couch, there’s a text from Ryan.

_Hey_

_Hello_

_Pick a smell_

Brow furrowed, Shane taps out his response, and hovers over then send button before pressing it. 

_Pine? What are you picking out_? 

Ryan’s answer comes lightning fast.

_A bath bomb for the bath you’re gonna take after I murder that ass_

Shane stares down at that text and hates that Ryan affects him like this. The same guy that rattles on about various attributes of Disneyland rides, and believes in ghosts, and—

And is apparently so sexually confident in himself it's both refreshing and maddening to sit here and think about how badly he wants Ryan to touch him. 

_Oh. Best get me a nice suit while you're out and about to bury me in then._

_Thought I’d just toss you out of a plane._

_You know me so well._

_I do, don't I?_

_What I don't know is if you want it raw, or if I should get condoms_

Shane squirms in his seat. 

_No condoms is fine._

_You gonna let me come inside you?_

Shane takes a deep breath and slowly types four letters and it’s punctuation.

 _Yeah_.

Shane waits, but not a single response comes through. He’s half hard on the couch, staring at Ryan's text, the words he typed with his fingers, and clenches his jaw. 

Shane's too much of a chicken to send another message. so he sits there and rereads the conversation and wonders how he let things go from _good game_ to _come inside me_.

Terms and conditions, he supposes. Although a warning would have been nice.

Except this is where he is, and he doesn’t know how to turn his attention back to the television, doesn’t know how to pick up the controller and unpause his game. He’s—he’s too horny thinking about Ryan, and all of Ryan’s filthy, filthy words.

Had he paid more attention, maybe he would have realized that this _is_ Ryan, in a sense where—where maybe he doesn’t have as many anxieties about these things as Shane does. Where Shane loathes to forge connections with people he’s just met, Ryan has the energy and emotional availability to seek them out and learn them.

He’s been friends with Ryan for about five years now, and it’s unsettling. A newness about all of this makes his skin crawl, warring with the pristine and glimmering fact that all this newness has placed an indelicate ache in his belly, something he’ll either have to deal with or not. He hasn’t made up his mind yet if he wants to jerk off to a handful of words Ryan’s sent to him over the wire.

Shane picks up his phone and rereads the thread again, takes in Ryan’s simple, blunt attitude towards what they’re going to do. What they’re planning to do. Because Shane’s repressed himself so much, all he craves now is for the right pair of hands to hold him down and pry him open, witness the fact that, yes, he does have feelings, thank you very much.

The problem with that is that he doesn’t know what those feelings amount to. He’s still stuck on the fact that these things never go well. These things happen, and for people who are the exception to the rule, things are great. Most people aren’t the exception, and Shane is certainly no different, so he can only anticipate that Ryan is going to fuck him raw, make him come, and then—

And then what?

It shouldn’t really matter, is the thing. It just shouldn’t. Because, as the wise, wise Freddie Mercury once said, _nothing really matters._

But? But it does matter. It matters because it’s him, because it’s Ryan, because while the spanking thing might be a gentle gateway into his deepest darkest desires, it’s also a can of worms he isn’t ready to face.

All those repressed emotions come bubbling to the surface, and it’s more than just a heavy hand he wants, and he _knows_ that, despite how badly he’d rather he’d never have to face such a brutal thing. He’s never felt the need to be destroyed emotionally by someone he loves. Never felt the need to walk himself into a situation where that was a possibility. Where the endgame left him bruised and beaten on the inside.

And of course, because everything seems to negate the logic of his inner workings, Shane’s phone vibrates against his thigh, the screen lighting up with a message from Ryan.

Shane hates how his laughter just tumbles out of him, surprising him, and he feels like a fool sitting on his couch, contemplating the ins and outs of sex with the person he cares about the most.

It’s a photograph of Ryan’s basket; a bath bomb, a bottle of chardonnay, lube, and one single zucchini. 

_Think I’m gonna get any weird looks?_

Shane shakes his head. 

_That checkout clerk is going to tell  
everyone ryan from buzzfeed unsolved   
is having a very romantic night._

The thread goes quiet. 

Shane sighs and turns his attention back to the TV again. After staring blankly at the screen for much too long, he picks up his controller and resumes his game. He periodically checks his phone after feeling phantom vibrations, only to greet an empty notification center.

He knows he can text Ryan. They can chat like they used to, they _could_ , he tries to convince himself. Only now it feels different, and he doesn’t know what to say, can’t think of anything clever to send that might make Ryan want to keep talking with him. It makes his gameplay shit, and eventually, he just shuts off the game and takes himself to bed. 

Lying on his stomach in the dark, he thinks maybe he should just jerk it out of his system for the night, so he’ll actually be able to relax instead of giving into the impulse of checking his phone again. 

He closes his eyes, thinks about Ryan. He lets his mind wander, only for a few moments before the buzzing of his phone rattles against the nightstand and the screen illuminates. It’s a little after eleven, and there’s a text from Ryan. 

_Hey_

_Yeah_

_What are you doing?_

_Sleeping soon hopefully_

_Oh good._

_What are you wearing?_

Shane’s body floods with warmth. He doesn’t do this. 

_Seriously?_

_Yeah seriously_

_You’re looking for a sexy answer  
and I don’t have one for you_

_Can I send you a pic_

Shane sighs, contemplating the ramifications of it. Saying no could insult Ryan. Saying yes could—well. Saying yes means he gets a photograph. And Shane’s curiosity wins, so he types _yeah_ , and waits with his breath held. 

When it comes, Shane’s breath exits his body in a rush, nearly fatal. It’s—

Well, it’s exactly what Shane had expected it to be, but so much more modest. It’s Ryan, laying back against his bed, a hand on his stomach. He’s wearing dark briefs, but the light from the flash gives the photo dimension, and Shane’s staring at what he knows is Ryan’s cock, hard, thick if his judgement is worth anything. It makes Shane’s dick twitch in his pants, very interested in what’s going on. 

_Wanna guess what I’m thinking  
about?_

Shane sinks into his mattress, glancing from Ryan’s words to the showcase of his dick in that photo. Shane wishes Ryan would have sent a photo of himself naked. 

_Are we really going to do this?_

_If you want to. Tell me what you  
want me to do to you_

Shane reaches underneath the blankets and slips a hand over the length of himself, like he might be able to hurry along how quickly he becomes fully hard. It doesn’t take very long. 

Shane hates typing with one hand, so he wrangles up all of his deepest desires and wills it into courage.

_right now, I want you to call me and_  
talk me off while I fuck myself with   
a toy. 

Send. 

Seconds later, Shane’s phone lights up with a less than sexy photo of Ryan. Shane stares at his phone as it vibrates in his hand, and after a second of composure, he answers. 

“Hel—”

“So much for ‘I don’t have a sexy answer for you’. Jesus, Shane,” Ryan huffs on the other side of the line. 

“I was feeling brave,” Shane says nervously.

“You’re gonna be feeling something.” 

Shane clears his throat. “I—” he pulls the phone back from his head and sets the call to speaker. He lays his cell on the pillow next to him. “I may have been too brave. I haven’t done this part yet.” Shane reaches over to his nightstand, pulling the silicone dildo and lube out, laying them on the bed just to the side of his hips. His hands shake.

“It’s alright, we can—I’ll go slow,” Ryan says easily. “What’s going on right now? Give me the full picture. I wanna see you.” 

Shane takes in a shuddery breath. “I’m laying down, and—uh—and I’m hard. Mostly wishing I never said anything.” 

Ryan laughs, soft and easy. “Naked?” 

“No,” Shane breathes. 

“Get naked for me.” 

Shane does, taking off his shirt, his pants, his underwear flinging them over the side of the bed. He lays back on the pillows and blinks up at the ceiling. It’s dark, so it feels less nerve-wracking. 

“Touch yourself,” Ryan says. “Slowly, though. Draw it out.”

Shane wraps his hand around himself, gripping hard enough around the base to ease the ache, stroking from root to tip. He stifles his moan. 

“Let me hear you, big guy,” Ryan says. 

Shane keeps stroking his cock, letting himself be heard when he sighs, when he groans, feeling the ripple of adoration pour over him when Ryan says, “There you go,” his voice sharp. Shane wonders if he’s touching himself, if this—if any of this is sexy enough to get Ryan off, too.

“Spread your legs,” Ryan says, his voice deep, something Shane’s only heard the beginnings of, allusions to, nothing like this, that sends a shudder through his body, a flush so hot it bleeds down from his shoulders to his chest. He does as Ryan says, and lets his hand wander a bit, gripping his sac, and then back up to stroke his cock. He’s wet, smearing the precome as he jerks himself.

“Fuck,” Shane breathes. 

“Yeah? Feel good?” 

“Yeah. I’m—” Shane knows to be honest now. He knows he can say things, and Ryan, for some reason, won’t run away. “I’m thinking about you. Touching me.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah, thinking how—” Shane touches the fingertips of his left hand between his asscheeks, pressing against his hole. “—you’d tease me before you put your fingers in me.” 

“Is that what you want? For me to finger fuck you? Get you all stretched open so I can slide my cock inside you?” 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane breathes. “Yes, god.” 

“Aww, baby. You think you can take it?” Ryan’s voice comes rough, thick, and Shane shivers. 

“Yes, yes _please_.” 

Ryan’s laugh is wry, but Shane feels it all along his body, like Ryan might be right next to him. “Come on and get your fingers wet.”

Shane’s hands are shaking, trembling, but there’s a heat inside of him that makes him desperate for it. He wants to come so bad, let Ryan listen to him. It’s odd, but now that he’s here, it feels exactly like it’s supposed to. 

His fingers are dripping coated with lube and Ryan’s voice comes again, breathy, coaxing. 

“Can you start with two or is that too much?” 

“I can,” Shane says, the _for you_ left unsaid. 

“Good. Slide them in and tell me how it feels.” 

He does just that, right hand stilled on his cock, his middle and ring fingers of his left hand pressing against his hole, and then slowly inside. It’s a lot, coupled with the sound of Ryan’s voice, pushing the boundaries of what he’s learned he likes. He bears down around them— 

“Relax Shane. Let yourself have this. You want it don’t you? You want me—” 

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Shane moans, fingers settled as deep as he can get them, crying out as he draws them, just to push them back in. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Ryan praises. He grunts, and God, Shane wishes he could see him. “You make me so hot, Shane. Do you know what you’ve been doing to me? I’m thinking about bending you over anything I can, just so I can stuff you full, hear you beg for it.” 

Shane continues the steady, quick rhythm as best as he can. It’s not enough, it’s not Ryan, but it’s good. 

“Would you beg for me, Shane?” Ryan asks. 

“Yeah, please _, please_ ,” Shane murmurs. He gives himself a third without being asked, and arches his back, moaning Ryan’s name. 

“Fuck, I wish I could see you. Bet you look so pretty with fucking yourself open for me.” And then, something that makes Shane’s flesh burn. “Can’t wait to spank you until your ass is so red,” he says. 

“Oh my God.” 

“Cause that’s what you really want, isn’t it? For me to get you hot with my hand on your ass. You gonna let me bend you over my lap, Shane? You gonna let me spank you?” 

“Yes, god, yes,” he breathes, stroking quickly over his cock, rougher than he usually does, focusing right up at the head with the tight grip of his fist. 

“Slow down,” Ryan commands. “I don’t want you to come yet.” 

Shane’s body shudders, and his thighs clench closed; he pulls his fingers free and drops his hold on his dick, letting it smack against his belly. He takes a deep, gasping breath. 

“I wanna come,” Shane whines, and it’s--he hates the sound of his voice, but Ryan groans on the other end of the line. 

“You will,” he says, “but first, I want you to put the toy inside of you.” 

“I—” _I changed my mind_ , he wants to say, just get himself there the rest of the way just like this, three fingers deep and a quick hand. 

“Come on, Shane, I wanna hear you tease yourself with it.” 

With a shuddery breath, he picks up the lube and wets his hand so he can slick up the toy. He imagines himself doing this to Ryan, doing it for Ryan, wonders what sounds he might make if he does, how heavy Ryan would be on top of him. He widens the spread of his thighs, heels digging into the mattress as he bends his knees. 

Ryan’s breathing pushes him along; Shane closes his eyes and groans, long and low, rumbling all throughout his chest as he pushes the tip of the toy inside himself, slowly as his body tenses around it. He pulls it back, presses it against his rim. 

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Ryan says. 

“I’m—” Shane huffs, when he has it all the way in, he whispers Ryan’s name, circling his rim where he’s stretched around it. he feels so much, _so much_ , being filled like this. “It—” 

It’s a lot, is what it is, bigger than his fingers, reaching places he didn’t know he had inside of him. It’s like someone taking their hand and smashing all of the buttons inside of an elevator in a building with twenty five floors. 

“It’s inside, _Ryan—”_ He draws it out, and pushes it back in, whimpering; his cock twitches and leaks on his belly, a pool of wet right underneath his belly button. 

“Fuck, I wish I could see you,” Ryan says over the line. He sounds far away; Shane’s blood is rushing through his ears, his heartbeat audible, loud. His heart slams into his sternum and he feels the heat of his heightened emotions prickle all over his skin. 

“Wish you could see me, want you to see me.” Shane gasps as he draws the toy out. “Want you to fuck me, Ryan.” 

“I am,” Ryan says, his voice increasingly breathy; Shane wonders if he’s close. “I’m gonna fuck you and fill you up, until you can’t take it anymore.” 

Shane makes a desperate noise, fucking the toy inside himself, grasping his fingers back around his cock. he’s much too far gone for any coordination. His muscles ache, his wrist hurts, his heart is pounding like he’s been running. He opens his legs wider, drops the hold on his dick and reaches for his phone. 

“I want to show you,” Shane murmurs. 

“Oh, yeah?” he hears Ryan say. 

In this hazy fog of need, he positions the camera lens over his hips, aiming the focus and capturing a photo of himself. it’s blurry when he looks at it, the pink end of the dildo sticking out of him, showing the stretch of himself around it, the tight draw of his balls and the flushed red of his dick. Not bad. He sends it to Ryan. 

“Fuck, _fuck—_ “ Shane hears Ryan’s groan, loud, and he imagines the way he trembles, what he looks like with come spilled all over his stomach, his chest.

“Did you—did you come?”

“Of course I did, Shane, you look incredible. Tell me how you feel.” 

“It’s—“ Shane moans. “It's a lot.” 

“Yeah? you like it?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. 

“Yeah, but it’s not me, huh?” 

Shane lets out a strangled noise, pushing through the ache in his arm to push the toy harder inside of himself, deeper. 

“Close?”

Incredibly. “ _Yes_.” He's aware of himself, of the wide spread of his aching thighs, the way his cock makes his belly wet, the slight arch in his back when he thrusts the silicone in hard. It sparks something unimaginable, a sharp burst of pleasure that makes him shout Ryan’s name like Ryan’s the one doing this to him. In a sense, he is. 

“Come on, Shane, you can do it,” Ryan encourages, his voice soft, nearly whispering, static over the line of their phone call. “Let me hear you.”

Bearing down hard on the toy, Shane strokes himself quick, tight, focusing just below the head before he’s splashing all over himself, rocking his hips like he might be able to get the toy to grind into him, like he knows Ryan will. His whole body locks and then falls into a fit of trembles, groaning like he’s forgotten anyone can hear him. his heartbeat pounds in his ears, underneath the soothing murmur of Ryan’s voice. 

“I wish I could see you,” Ryan says quietly. “Are you a mess?” 

Shane makes a non-committal noise, settling back onto the mattress. He’s wet all over the place, feeling well-fucked and filthy, there’s a moment of longing that burrows deep inside of him, demanding he feel it, and all he wants to do is roll into the overheated body that did this to him. 

He ignores the pang in his chest and focuses on his breathing, rolling onto his stomach and subsequently ruining his sheets. He has absolutely no intention of getting up, as he reaches behind himself and pulls the toy out, throwing it on the floor. Tomorrow-Shane’s problem. 

“Shane?” Ryan asks. 

Shane finds his cell, tossed towards the edge of the bed, and takes Ryan off speaker. “Yeah?” 

“You okay?” 

Shane makes a soft noise, letting his eyes fall closed. “I hate phone sex.” 

Ryan laughs. “Why? We had a good time. You did so well.” 

Shane hums. “I like my body when it is with your body.” 

“You haven’t had my body.” 

Shane’s on a different plane right now, thoughts like poetry. “Maybe. But I will. You’ll give it to me. You’ll let me have you,” he says quietly. “And possibly, I like the thrill.” 

Ryan hums. “Shane, do we need to talk—“

“Night, Ry,” Shane says, before Ryan can do the thing where he catches Shane off guard and reveals that he’s known all along. That’s the thing about Ryan; if he doesn’t know, he’ll find out, at the expense of each and every one of the guards Shane’s been holding up the whole time. 

“Alright. Night, Shane.”

The phone call ends, and Shane heaves a sigh, feeling no better. He still wants to sleep with Ryan. Just sleep, where he can hook his ankle along the inside of Ryan’s, lay his cheek over the warmth of his chest. 

Something about a dildo inside him makes him softer than he’s ever been, horny for the emotional parts of Ryan, the gentler bits. It does go beyond wanting to be spanked, wanting more with Ryan than Ryan’s extended the opportunity for. No, he doesn’t want to talk about this, about his slow descend into madness where he’s reached the point that it’s not just Ryan’s hands he wants.

He’s fantasized for a while about Ryan destroying him. He never quite imagined the bits where Ryan would take the time to put him back together. 

And he didn’t ever think he’d be left boneless on top of his bed, snuffling into his pillow, half dreaming of Ryan looking down at him, with his big, big eyes, and giving him a kiss. 

-:-

Of course, in the morning he wakes up sore, and an emotional wreck. the kind of wreck that leaves Ryan on read when a flood of texts comes through. 

Walking is—manageable, and anything amiss can be blamed on a bad run, he decides. 

When he makes it into the office, Ryan’s already at his desk, eyeing Shane as he walks up and takes a seat. He must make a face. 

“Someone had fun last night,” Ryan says, much too cheerfully but quietly enough that no one else should hear him. 

“I can’t look at you right now,” Shane says. Ryan laughs. 

“Is that why you didn’t answer my texts?” 

“Ryan—” 

“You’re gonna have to look at me some time,” he interrupts. “Or are blindfolds on your list of kinks?” 

“I mean _maybe_ , but—” Shane squirms. “It’s not weird for you?” 

“Why would it be weird, Shane? I’m sexually attracted to you. I listened to you come. Right now, if I could, I would tell everyone to get the fuck out of here so I can bend you over this desk and fuck you exactly the way you want me to.” 

Shane’s mouth drops open and he looks straight at Ryan. 

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Shane.”

Shane blows out his breath. “Neither do I.”

Ryan laughs and shakes his head. “Well, eventually, I’m gonna fuck the uncertainty out of you. And then maybe you won’t be surprised anymore.”

Shane clears his throat. “So, this weekend?” he wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Yeah?” 

Shane nods. “I—yeah.” 

“Cool.” 

-:-

Outside, Shane leans back against the building, waiting for his Lyft to show up. He may or may not have left before Ryan could catch him, eyeing him across the room as Ryan conversed with Katie. Knowing they have a date set makes Shane nervous, anxiety sitting hot in his stomach. If last night was anything to go off of, Shane might not make it and he doesn’t know how he feels about being ruined by his best friend. 

Because they’re still friends, no matter what the fantastical, whimsical, love-seeking portion of his brain wishes for. 

“Cancel it, I’m taking you home.” 

Shane jumps, looking behind him, finding Ryan walking, stepping lively. 

“They’re almost here,” Shane protests, but he’s already navigating to the app. 

“So? Cancel it.” Ryan walks past him, and Shane cancels his ride and shoves his phone into his pocket, long strides to catch up. 

In the car, Ryan fiddles with the stereo, landing on something Shane recognizes, but doesn’t know for sure. There’s tension in the air, he can feel it, almost like it makes it hard to breathe.

Ryan doesn’t strike up a conversation and it makes Shane even more nervous, like he’s done something wrong, and somehow Ryan’s gone with a bit of a silent treatment. 

“Get out of your head, Shane.” 

He clears his throat, looking over at Ryan. Ryan’s focus is somewhere through the windshield, flying down the street. 

“What?” 

“I said get out of your head. It’s not going to work if you’re second guessing everything you do. I’m coming over at seven Saturday, and you’re going to get what you want.” 

Shane takes a shuddery breath in. 

“Until then, I don’t want you jerking off.” 

“What?” Shane balks. “I—” _have to_ , is what he means to say, because what else is he going to do with the building frustration that’s already inside of him? He was planning on it the second he walked through the door. 

“It’s three nights,” Ryan reasons. “I’m sure you can manage it.” 

Something like defiance rises inside of him, molten lava hot, spilling from his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself. “And what if I do it anyway?” 

“No one likes a brat, Shane.” Ryan tosses him a sideways glance, accompanied by the shrug of his shoulders. “You know I’ll know, and then you won’t get what you want otherwise. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling you’re going to listen to me.”

He is. He absolutely is. Ryan knows it. Shane knows it. The people in the car behind them fucking know it. 

“But why?” 

“Because I said so.” 

A chill slithers down Shane’s spine at the way Ryan’s statement lands. He feels that telltale prickle of heat along his cheeks, down his neck. Quietly, Shane nods. 

“Okay,” he agrees.

It dawns on Shane that they’ve entered into brand new territory. Sure, Shane wanted to be spanked, but he didn't know this part, that being told what to do turned on every light in his body. 

There’s something about this, about the way Ryan looked at him that makes him feel--he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, but he is absolutely certain that the next two days will be a hell worth walking through. 

-:- 

In reality, it isn’t actually all that bad. He’s lying. But it’s not that bad. 

-:-

For the most part, if Shane runs, it takes off the edge. He wears himself out, running until his legs are on fire and he barely makes it home, flopping onto the couch. He’s sore, but it exhausts him. It’s only Thursday. 

On Friday, he’s jittery, and coffee only makes it worse, but he can’t stop drinking it--not until Ryan takes the cup he’s nursing and dumps it straight into the trash. 

“Jesus, I wasn’t finished—” 

“You should probably have some water, hmm?” Ryan says, arching a brow. He turns back to his screen and settles his headphones back over his ears. 

Shane yanks them off. “Are you nuts?” 

“What the fuck, Shane?” Ryan whips his head to look at him, brow furrowed. 

“This can’t come to work—” 

Ryan’s face explodes into a big, handsome grin. “I meant that in a concerned friend way. You’re on your fourth cup and you haven’t stopped doing the leg thing.” He clears his throat. “You’re cute, you know that?” 

“You’re pushing your luck, man.” Shane says, frowning. 

Ryan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know,” he says, somewhat conspiratorially. “You’re lucky you’re new to this, or I’d tell you to wait til we get home.” He gives Shane a gentle pat on his thigh, squeezing his knee before taking his headphones from Shane’s hands, and returns to work. 

Shane, however. Well. He’s glued to his chair until he can get himself under control.

-:-

So, like, Ryan’s been to Shane’s apartment approximately forty-six billion times, but that doesn't stop Shane from pulling out the vacuum that hasn’t seen daylight in about six months or so. 

It’s not going to matter, he knows, as he loads the dishwasher. Ryan’s really not going to give a shit, he mumbles to himself as he arranges the pillows on the couches. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, really, as he reaches for the duster, but that’s a step too far. At this point, he’s an anxiety-ridden, impulsive decision away from hanging a banner that reads _Thanks for the Spanks!_ and calling it a day. 

It’s too early for anything, really, he’s not expecting Ryan for _hours_ , but he’s too wound up knowing they planned this. Sex usually isn’t planned for him. Really, Shane just gets incredibly lucky that girls like that he’s tall, has a wide variety of historical knowledge, and is a particular brand of weird that isn’t offensive or seemingly harmful. Most of the time, he just falls into a body—

This. This isn’t that. This is a plan. 

Ryan called him that morning. Which is out of the ordinary, but Shane can admit to himself that Ryan basically reached inside of him and twisted his guts around and now he’s feeling even more on top of what he was already feeling. 

How dare Ryan call and check in and make sure he’s okay and not panicking about getting on his knees and being spanked and then—

Just how dare he. 

Eventually, the morning wears into early afternoon and Shane goes for a run to shake off the kind of energy he hasn’t felt in years. 

-:-

Shane’s in a nondescript button-up and a pair of dark wash jeans. He leaves off the belt and doesn’t bother with shoes. After all, there really isn’t a point to getting dressed when Ryan’s going to end up undressing him. 

Ryan arrives at exactly the time he said he would. Because Shane knows Ryan, he half-wonders, half-posits that Ryan was waiting in his car. 

He stands by the door, and Shane’s too nervous to just stand there with him, so he goes and sits, leaning back against the couch. Ryan comes into view, hands in his pockets. 

“So, I know this isn’t really about the spanking. Steven says the spanking is a metaphor,” Ryan says in a rush. Shane’s breath leaves his body. His soul dims. He’s about as close to death as a living person can be. 

“Steven?!” 

“Sorry! I had to talk to someone about it!” 

“Yeah, but Hallelujah-Steven let you talk to him about the spanking?!” 

“No, he let me talk to him about—listen. We’re gonna do this. If you want to,” Ryan says, hands in his pockets, standing at his full height, looking authoritative in a way Shane hadn’t ever seen him. “But—there’s something else going on. Cause there’s no way me calling out ‘good game’ was what really sparked all of this. If you’re into me, that’s okay, you know?” Ryan smiles. “Cause I’m into you. In a, please join me for dinner, kind of way.” 

“Dinner?” 

“Yeah. Shane—” 

“No—uh, yes. Dinner is good. I like to eat—and stuff.” 

Ryan’s head falls back as he laughs, and Shane feels his stomach flutter, and he finds himself sharing Ryan’s laughter, warmth bleeding through his body. 

“It’s a little bit about the spanking,” Shane mumbles.

“Alright, big guy.” 

Shane swallows thickly. “I, uh. Do you want something to drink, or?” 

“Come here.” 

Shane clears his throat and stands from the couch, and walks over to where Ryan’s standing, in the middle of his living room, looking every bit as hot and confident as Shane’s never seen him.

“You good?” Ryan asks him, looking up at him, pulling his hands from his pockets, setting both of them on Shane’s hips. He tugs and Shane steps forward, so they’re standing flush together. 

“Yeah,” Shane breathes. 

“Yeah?” Ryan grins. “You look good in this shirt.” 

“Uh, thanks.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Shane nods frantically. 

Ryan is suddenly so much closer, a hand on the back of Shane’s neck, drawing him down, drawing him in, and there’s a breathless moment, space between their mouths. It takes a beat, and then another, for Shane to realize Ryan’s waiting for him, that Ryan wants _him_ to do it. 

He closes the space, the prickle of Ryan’s beard against his lips, the rush of Ryan’s breath. It’s a still moment, a kiss for the books, just like the films, the ones with all the fake sex scenes, except here, the tension has mounted to this, to Ryan’s hands on his waist, hot even through his shirt, the soft press of his mouth, the way his lips curve around Ryan’s, and then movement, when Ryan pulls back and pushes back in. 

Ryan kisses like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how to turn Shane inside out and reduce him into his most basic form, chasing after Ryan when he pulls away. Ryan draws his hands up Shane’s waist, touching over his chest. 

“Go sit down,” Ryan says softly. Shane takes in a deep breath and pulls away from Ryan’s grasp and moves back towards the couch, sitting in the middle. 

Ryan’s gaze is heavy from where he stands. “How do you feel?” 

“Good, I’m good,” Shane assures quickly, wiping his hands over his pants, clasping them together. 

“Yeah?” Ryan walks towards him, kneeling onto the cushions, knees on either side of Shane’s hips. Ryan touches his face. “You really want this?” 

Nodding, Shane leans in, but Ryan pulls back. “Say it out loud. Tell me what you want,” Ryan murmurs. 

“Kiss me,” Shane says quietly. “Please.” 

“Be good for me, Shane. Tell me what you really want,” Ryan coaxes. He leans forward and kisses Shane on the temple, which is simultaneously the most tender and sexy thing Shane might have experienced up until this point in time, and Ryan called him baby over the phone multiple times the other night while he fucked himself with a dildo. 

With a shuddery breath, Shane closes his eyes. “I want your hands on me,” Shane says carefully. 

“Come on, tell me you want it and you can have it.” 

Words—they’re so heavy. There’s so much meaning in it, in the inflection of Ryan’s tone. Ryan means more than just this, just the sex of it all. 

“I do, I do want it.” 

“Say it, Shane,” Ryan commands. 

Shane’s breath leaves him, fully and completely. He opens his eyes and looks right into Ryan’s. “Spank me, please.” 

When Ryan kisses him now, it’s different, harsh and dirty, with tongue and teeth and harsh breathing. Shane falls into it, tries his damndest to keep up. Shane knows, right then, that Ryan’s setting the tone, and he’s in it now. He’s asked for it, out loud, with precise and decisive words. 

“Safeword?” 

“Safeword?” Shane asks, alarmed. “I didn’t--I don’t have one.” 

“Well, pick one,” Ryan says, and climbs off Shane’s lap. He holds out his hand, and Shane takes it. “All you have to do is tell me you don’t want it. And all of it stops, okay?” 

Shane takes a deep breath, nodding. His heartbeat thrums excitedly inside of him, hard and unrelenting, He follows Ryan down to his bedroom.

He feels like he should be nervous, and he is, but it should be more, but there’s a brutal sense of achievement, of _finally_ , that anxiety is near nonexistent. Holding Ryan’s hand, walking through the doorway of his bedroom makes him feel like he’s made it. And his cock is interested in what they’re doing, what’s going to happen; it twitches in his pants. 

Ryan turns to look at him. “I want you to take off all your clothes,” Ryan says clearly, coolly, each consonant and vowel concise and neat. “And then I want you to kneel on the bed. And then you’re going to tell me how many times you think you deserve to be spanked.” 

“Okay.” Shane glances from Ryan to his bed he made this morning while he stress cleaned. 

“Good,” Ryan says, rubbing his hands along Shane’s waist, his touch gentle and reverent. Then Ryan pulls his hands away and steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “C’mon, show me, babe.” 

Shane takes a breath, glances from Ryan back to the bed. His hands tremble as he unbuttons his shirt. And they keep trembling when they undo the buckle of his belt, the clanging of the metal so loud in his bedroom. He pushes his chinos down, taking his underwear with them, kicking them off when he gets them down to his ankles. 

He lets Ryan look at him, watches as Ryan’s eyes peruse the length of his body, up and down and up again, meeting his eyes. 

Shane knows he isn’t anything special, but his runs have done him some good, but—

Ryan steps forward, like he’s been beckoned, and he touches one solitary finger along the line of Shane’s sternum, drifting lower until he reaches Shane’s belly button. “Go on,” he says, and Shane shivers, turning around, self-conscious, hardening between his thighs before Ryan’s properly laid a hand on him. 

The air in the room is thick, hot, and anticipation rides Shane’s spine as he kneels on his bed, knowing to face the wall rather than Ryan. 

“Lean forward on your forearms.”

Shane drops forward, fingers tense in the sheets, feeling much more vulnerable than he’s ever allowed himself to be. The first touch of Ryan’s hand is on his back, high up, right over his shoulder blades. He shivers from it, as Ryan drags his hand down over Shane’s flesh, stopping just before the swell of his ass. 

“You got a number?” 

“Uh—” He thinks quickly, what would be acceptable, and blurts, “Ten.” 

“Ten?” 

Shane nods. “Yes.” 

“I think you can do better than that,” Ryan chides. “Pick a better number.” 

“One hundred?” 

Ryan laughs behind him, pinching his thigh. “From one extreme to the other, huh? Try again.” 

“It sounds like you’re trying to give me what _you_ think I deserve,” Shane huffs. 

“Pick a number,” Ryan says, giving Shane’s thigh a light smack. Shane jumps, but it sparks and catches, and he feels his face flush. 

“Twenty five.” 

“That’s better. Count each of them for me.”

Shane’s fingers tighten in the bedsheets, and he sucks in a breath, holding it in.

The first smack to his flesh is hard, hot, swelling and blooming and _burning._ It surprises him even though he expects it, and Shane’s breath rushes out of him. He chokes out, “One.” before he forgets, forcing himself to keep his posture. 

The second one comes, and Shane’s eyes shut tight. Shane counts it out, and Ryan is silent behind him, rubbing his skin. The third one _hurts_ , and Shane feels pressure inside of him, trying to keep quiet as Ryan spanks him, grunting softly. 

“Come on, Shane, I want to hear you. I want the whole neighborhood to hear you. I want—“ 

The next one surprises him so fully, Ryan gets his wish, Shane cursing loud as his thighs shake. “Four,” he gasps.

Ryan’s hand is red-hot on his asscheek, delivering smack after smack, deliberate, caressing his ass in between each slap that charges Shane’s nerves and wholly electrifies him. The sound echoes in the room, crackling, ricocheting off the walls. It’s loud, so loud it rattles Shane’s bones, seeps into his flesh, keeps his heartbeat racing.

By the time he’s reached fifteen, it feels like Shane’s gone and sat himself on a hot stove. He whimpers when Ryan rubs a little too hard. The pain doesn’t discriminate; he feels it all up his back, fire in his cheeks, fingers aching with how hard he grabs the bed sheets in his hands. 

After a few more, Shane’s upper body has wilted completely into the mattress, breathing brutally hard as Ryan talks to him in a voice so sweet it makes Shane dizzy. 

“I can’t,” Shane whispers, rubbing his face into the comforter, keeping his eyes closed. His body is buzzing, a gentle, vibrating current underneath his skin. 

“What was that?” Ryan asks, smoothing a hand down Shane’s spine. 

“I can’t,” Shane says louder this time. “Hurts.” He’s so hard, sweaty, hips aching with the way his body is clenched so tight. He just wants to lay down. 

Behind him, he feels the bed dip with Ryan’s weight, and he grabs Shane by his hips, rubs his erection against Shane’s ass. 

Shane pushes back against him, moaning, his eyes watering. “Ryan, _Ryan_ ,” he sighs. 

“I think you can take a little bit more, hmm?” Ryan says, drawing a hand down the length of Shane’s shivering back. “You can finish counting for me, can’t you? How many do you have left for me?” 

Shane breathes into the flesh of his forearm, rocking against Ryan's cock, still covered by the fabric of his jeans. 

“Seven,” he whispers. 

“Think you can make it just seven more?”

“Just fuck me, Ryan. _Please_.” 

Ryan pulls away, and Shane groans, frustrated and hard and his heart is beating so fast. 

“Ry—“ 

Shane feels Ryan's hands then, exposing him, pulling him apart, and then the wet swipe of his tongue. 

“Oh my god,” Shane cries out, as Ryan's noisy with the way he licks against Shane. He pushes his hips back into the feeling, chasing it. Half his mind registers the throb in his cock, but his hands don’t seem to want to let go of the blanket, so he’s stuck, half in agony, half in euphoria, groaning at the feeling of Ryan’s tongue licking him out. 

“Please,” Shane mumbles, “please, I—” 

“Think you can count for me now?” 

Shane does, except it’s simultaneously worse and better when Ryan's hand lands hard on his flesh, over where he’s already so sore. Ryan strikes hard, encourages him to speak up when Shane forgets to count. 

“Gorgeous,” Ryan praises. “You wanna wear my handprint, too, don’t you?” 

They’re somewhere in the twenties, and Shane’s out of his mind from it. Ryan rubs his hands so gently over his cheeks, it makes it better, soothing in the worst way; he can’t stop shivering, can’t stop shaking, waiting for the next blow. 

“Yes,” Shane breathes, “yes.” 

Twenty three punches the breath right out of him. Ryan caresses him so sweetly over the crease of his thigh but it makes him flinch; Shane sobs a moan when Ryan rubs the pad of his thumb over his rim. 

“You’re so close, baby. How many more?” Ryan asks.

“Two,” he says, quick to the jump, looking over his shoulder behind him, wiping his face with his hand. Ryan’s looking at him with dark, wildfire eyes, and Shane’s breath gets caught at the back of his throat, rough and thick. Ryan grins at him, and Shane bites down on his bottom lip. 

Encouraging, Shane pushes his hips back. “Please, Ryan.” 

Twenty four comes, and Shane feels the tears leak from his eyes, dripping down the bridge of his nose when he looks back down to the bed sheets, leaning his forehead against the mattress. He calls out the number, thighs trembling, shaking, twitching. Ryan’s hands are gentle again, but it burns, hurts so badly Shane groans.

When the last spank lands, Shane’s exhausted, but he feels like he’s been scratched open; his forearm is wet from his tears and his voice is barely a whisper when he says, “Twenty five.” 

“You did so well, Shane,” Ryan says, his voice sweet as he smooths his hands over Shane’s backside, his thighs, and up his back. Shane flinches again, moving away from the touch. “Feel better?” 

He does, is the thing. Granted, his ass hurts because of course Ryan has a heavy hand, precise and incendiary. But something about it has opened him and he feels raw and worn and worked up, wound tight and _ready_. 

“Yeah,” Shane croaks.

“Good. Get yourself ready for me.” 

Shane lets himself fall against the mattress, rubbing his face dry with the back of his hand. When he turns over onto his back, the scrape of his sheets against his ass makes him hiss, jolting his hips up, avoiding the fabric of the sheets. 

He turns back over onto his stomach, his heartbeat underneath the skin of his asscheeks. 

“Ryan—” 

“You’ll be fine, Shane,” Ryan says softly, smoothing his hand down Shane’s back, over his backside and down his thigh. His touch disappears, but his eyes well up again from how on fire he feels. When he shifts his hips, his whole body feels tight, and as much as he wants Ryan he doesn’t know if he can take it. 

“On your back.” Ryan’s voice is low, but sharp. Shane forces himself to roll over and blinks his eyes as he internalizes it, how much it stings when his flesh hits the bedsheets. “Okay?” 

Shane nods, keeping his eyes closed for a moment, “I just need a second.” 

When he opens his eyes, he finds Ryan undressing. “Better?” Ryan asks, hand paused on the hem of his shirt. 

“Yeah,” Shane says, leaning up onto his elbows. “Just wanna watch you.” 

Ryan grins, and he takes his shirt off over his head, throwing it to the ground. There’s no dance, no hip swinging; Ryan’s just getting naked and Shane’s cock twitches where it lays against the crease of his hips, eyeing the quick way Ryan pops the button of his jeans and shucks them off, leaving him in his briefs, a stark, saturated black against the gentle brown of his skin. Shane doesn’t know if he’s ever wanted to touch anyone so badly. 

Even through his underwear, Shane can see the outline of Ryan’s cock, hard and thick—

“Can I put my mouth on you?” Shane asks quietly, feeling proud the way he makes Ryan’s eyebrows skyrocket into his hairline. 

“If you want to,” Ryan says politely, even though the muscles of his stomach flex, like maybe he likes the thought of it. 

“Just—want to try,” Shane confesses, and Ryan steps out of his jeans and walks over. Shane gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth, unsure what he’s supposed to do. But Ryan guides him, climbing onto the mattress and in between Shane’s legs, the fabric of Ryan’s underwear catching against his cock when he lays Shane back. Shane moans, just as Ryan leans down to kiss him, first his bottom lip, digging his teeth in to nip before he properly consumes Shane with a kiss he has to keep up with, pushing his hips up to meet the slow grind of Ryan’s pinning him down into the mattress. It hurts, his whole body is singing, but it feels so good, so achingly good he can’t complain.

Shane rolls them over, so Ryan’s underneath him, and Shane sits up, straddling Ryan’s hips. With his left hand behind his head, Ryan licks the palm of his right and wraps it around Shane’s cock, thumbing the head before he slides down. Shane lets his head hang, groaning as Ryan tugs him off.

“Fuck,” Shane curses. 

“I like you on top of me like this, letting me touch you,” Ryan says smoothly, his voice even. Shane nods, shifting his hips into the grasp of Ryan’s fingers, fucking the tight grip of his hand. 

But he reminds himself not to get lost in it, in Ryan’s words and the hot touch of his palm. Shane bats his hand away, and slinks down Ryan’s body, giving into the desire to kiss his chest, lick over Ryan’s nipples so his hips buck up underneath Shane’s rubbing against his bare ass. Shane groans, hisses, huffs against Shane’s chest. Ryan runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Perfect, perfect,” Ryan murmurs; Shane feels like his body is shimmering, like he’s glowing from Ryan’s words. 

When he looks up, Ryan’s resting both of his hands behind his head, watching with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted as he sucks in a breath when Shane uses his teeth to scrape over a nipple. 

“Good, that’s good,” Ryan murmurs, and Shane feels the bleeding warmth of praise swirl through him, sitting like butterflies in his stomach. He kisses the rest of the way down, against his sternum and his belly, just above the elastic of his underwear. 

Ryan lifts his hips to help when Shane tucks his fingers under the elastic band and tugs down, freeing Ryan’s cock. It’s thick and uncut, a trickle of hair falling from his belly button down and around the base. When Shane touches him, his cock twitches in his hand, hot and heavy. Shane pulls the skin back to reveal the head, wet and shiny. He ducks down to taste, to lick, to take Ryan into his mouth. He doesn’t quite know what to do, but there’s the telltale hiss that he’s doing _something_ good. Shane’s not under any illusions that anything he does with Ryan tonight is going to be expert-level as far as he’s concerned, but somehow, his instincts are doing him a solid, and he knows to _suck_. 

One of Ryan’s hands tangles in his hair, blunt fingernails in his scalp as he pulls off and licks up the underside. Ryan spreads his legs further apart and Shane jerks him off as he takes one of Ryan’s balls into his mouth, rewarded with a delightful groan. 

“Oh, Shane,” Ryan moans. “Baby.” 

“Good?” Shane asks into the flesh of Ryan’s thigh, and Ryan nods. 

“Yeah, it’s good,” Ryan assures. “But I want to watch you finger yourself. Wanna come inside you.” It’s such a shameless confession, so certain and sure; Shane shivers, taking Ryan in his mouth again, just to bob up and down, take him as far as he can go before Ryan’s tugging on his hair. “ _Fuck_.” 

Shane pulls off with a gasp of breath, crawling up the mattress to reach Ryan, lean down and silently ask for a kiss. Ryan meets him, kissing him, licking into his mouth, the backs of his teeth, the hot slide of his tongue against his own. Shane lowers himself onto Ryan, can feel the solid heat of Ryan’s cock against his own when Shane grinds himself against Ryan’s hip. 

“Come on, Shane, lemme see you get ready for me.” Ryan says against the breathless part of Shane’s mouth, grasping the flesh of his waist so his mind can only focus on the feeling of his cock against Ryan and the heat of Ryan’s hand touching him. 

“Do it for me,” Shane says, turning onto his back, spreading his legs open. If feels stupid as soon as he does it, but the self-consciousness eases away into the sharp pin-prick of desire as Ryan sits up and looks down at him. His eyes are awed, pupils blown wide, so the brown of his irises are thin rings. Ryan bites down on his lip and the flush across his cheeks deepens. 

A tiny break in character. 

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees. He picks up the bottle of lube from Shane’s nightstand. He wets his fingers with it, tossing the bottle onto the bed between them, before he lays next to Shane, leaning in to kiss him as his fingers drag along the hard line of his cock, his balls, and lower. It’s already warm when Ryan touches Shane, just pressing at first, before slipping one finger in. 

Shane moans right into Ryan’s mouth, shifting his hips, pushing into Ryan’s touch, the rush of pain keeping his mind clear.

“Easy,” Ryan coaxes. “You’re gonna get what you want.” 

Shane’s arm comes up between them, touching his palm to Ryan’s cheek to bring him down for a kiss so he’ll stop saying bullshit that makes Shane impatient. 

Ryan takes his time, a slow push of his finger before he slips in a second, stretching Shane open. Each time Shane tries to grind into it, he rubs his ass against the bed, and it hurts, and there’s something about it, the indelicate mix of this teasing pleasure and small burst of pain. It makes his legs shake, his body quiver. Ryan works him open, curling his fingers when he gets in deep, making Shane’s body jolt in surprise. 

“Oh, god,” Shane gushes, huffing his breath, letting his head fall back so Ryan can kiss his neck, nip at his throat, slip another finger inside—

It’s better than Shane’s used to, so, so good, the stretch making him feel fuller, just a taste, he knows, considering how thick Ryan’s cock is. 

“Keep your legs spread,” Ryan admonishes when Ryan touches him just right and he nearly clenches them shut. He can feel himself go tight around Ryan’s fingers, thighs falling open. Shane reaches down, tugs at his cock and then slips lower, to touch his fingers over Ryan’s, not quite slipping in, just touching his rim where he can feel the slide of Ryan’s fingers. 

“Slip one inside,” Ryan coaxes, slowing the push of his hand, just so Shane can push in with him. Shane groans and Ryan kisses along his jawline and under, where his pulse must be so, so wild. “Feel good? Tell me how it feels, Shane.” 

“Good, _good_ ,” Shane whispers. They withdraw their fingers together, and Ryan pulls Shane against him by the hip, giving him a quick kiss. There’s something exhilarating _doing it_ with Ryan, to feel Ryan’s fingers alongside his own. It makes three nights wasting away from not jerking off worth it. 

“Fuck, you are incredible.” 

“Can we just—like, on my knees,” Shane asks, breathless. Ryan shakes his head. 

“Why, so you can hide from me?” Ryan says, pushing Shane back onto the mattress and climbing onto him, nudging Shane’s legs further apart so he can fit himself. “Any other time, I really wouldn’t care, but I wanna watch it happen.” 

“Is this a thing for you?” Shane huffs. “Torturing me?” 

Ryan laughs, crawling up the length of his body, ducking down to kiss along Shane’s stomach, his chest, and then his cheek, which makes Shane’s heart do a thing. 

“I’m—” Ryan clears his throat. “I want to take care of you,” he says quietly, so sincerely that Shane wants the world to swallow him whole as much as he wants Ryan to say it again and again, with that look in his eyes, like maybe he knows how hard it is to be vulnerable.

“Yeah, okay,” Shane says, just as quietly, and Ryan kisses him then, soft and slow. Shane runs his fingers through Ryan’s messy hair, keeps him close as they kiss. 

“Want you,” Ryan says against his mouth. “Fuck, I want you so much.” 

“Please, please,” Shane hears himself beg, and it’s so foreign, he doesn’t sound like himself, but at the same time, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to be. It’s instinct to ask, to want, to _need_ this badly, when Ryan lowers his weight against Shane’s body, hot and hard, that makes his thighs spread wider, shifting like he can get Ryan to slip right inside of him. 

Ryan grabs the bottle of lube and spreads it liberally all over his cock, and Shane watches as he gives himself a few slow, long tugs that makes Ryan’s breath go shuddery. Leveraging his weight with one hand, Ryan sets himself against Shane, and Shane presses a hand low on Ryan’s belly, gritting his teeth as Ryan slides home achingly slow. Shane’s back arches and his whole body explodes with endorphins and chemicals and the overarching feeling like it’s more than he can handle. 

“Oh my—” Shane’s heart lurches into his throat and he shuts his eyes and his hands grip Ryan’s shoulders, panting until Ryan’s pressed all the way in, flush against his ass. His flesh burns, and his hips ache with how wide he spreads them to accommodate the width of Ryan’s hips. “Ryan—” 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Ryan whispers, kissing along his cheek. He lowers himself onto his forearms, leaning in to kiss Shane, but Shane’s struggling to breathe, feeling too much, too much, emotions and sensations, intimacy that he’s never quite known. Shane kisses Ryan anyway, and moves his hand to press against Ryan’s chest. 

It doesn’t feel anything like the other night; while the toy had left him feeling a lot more open and vulnerable than he usually is after jerking off, it’s nothing like the touch of Ryan’s thighs against the back of his own, the scorching heat of Ryan’s body, the way Ryan’s breathing is so uneven. This moment is unmatched, new, unprecedented, and nothing’s happened yet, but Shane feels like he’s torn apart. 

“Jesus, fuck, you feel incredible,” Ryan pants, kissing along the exposed flesh of his throat, so, so still as Ryan gives him a moment of composure, a second of peace before everything he’s ever known about their relationship will be tipped over and emptied out, rearranged. Properly Marie Kondo’ed. Everything about this, about himself and Ryan against him, Shane realizes, sparks joy.

“I’m—” Shane blinks his eyes rapidly, looking from the ceiling then back to Ryan, daring himself to say something real. Of his own volition, without Ryan having to pull it out of him. He dares himself, in this moment, as Ryan draws his hips back to tell Ryan something that means more than anything he’s ever said before. “I’m glad it’s you,” Shane mumbles, looking up at Ryan when he says so, making it a point to, watching Ryan’s brow furrow and soften, closing his eyes. Ryan rocks his hips forward and steals the breath from Shane’s lungs, leans down to press their foreheads together. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” Shane says again, louder this time, and Ryan shudders on top of him, kissing over his cheeks, his jaw, pulling out and pushing back into him again, hot and thick. Ryan takes his time, his undulating a slow, careful rhythm that picks Shane apart little by little. 

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, his voice whispered, and Shane nods. 

Ryan stops, pressed all the way in but unmoving; Shane shifts his hips, encouraging. It hurts, it does, the flesh of his ass every time their bodies press together, each shift scraping his raw flesh against the bed sheets. He makes a soft noise, ignoring it, or maybe, falling into it, pairing the pain with this new feeling of Ryan inside of him.

Shane closes his legs around Ryan’s hips, hooking his heels on the insides of Ryan’s knees, touching his hands over Ryan’s waist to settle his palms on his chest. They give themselves the moment, he supposes, but Shane needs _something_ to ease the pressure of heightened emotions. 

“Easy, Shane—” 

“I think,” Shane says quietly, hurried to break the thick tension of _too much_ , “you promised you’d fuck me until I couldn’t walk.” 

Ryan pulls back, leaning up to look down at Shane, all sharpened grin and bedroom eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

Shane laughs, and it makes Ryan smile, and Ryan bows forward, catching Shane’s mouth in a kiss, but he doesn’t stay. Instead, he sits back on his heels, and takes Shane’s hips in his hands and fucks inside of him _hard_ , enough that it punches a helpless moan out of Shane, surprising him. It frays each of his nerve endings, so his body feels like it’s buzzing, riding a foreign high he knows he’ll find himself addicted to. 

He closes his eyes, submits to the stinging each time Ryan’s hips press against his own, residual pain that keeps him in the moment.

“Watch me, sweetheart,” Ryan says, and Shane does; the sound of Ryan’s voice sparks a thrill throughout Shane’s body, sharp in his thighs, in his belly, hot in his chest, on his face, like Ryan’s reached into his secret fantasy and pulled out the pet name. “You take it like you need it,” Ryan teases. “You need it, don’t you?”

Shane can hear himself, _yes, yes, yes_ , as Ryan thrusts into him, the smack of their skin echoing underneath the sound of Ryan’s grunting, the creak of Shane’s bed. Ryan pitches forward and Shane wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders, combing his fingers through his hair, panting against his jaw, his cheek, arching his back when he feels the hot swipe of Ryan’s tongue over his throat. Every thrust of Ryan’s hips aches so good, lends a spiking, hot rush of pain on his ass. 

“I need _you_ ,” Shane says, mouth operating without the consultation of his brain, and Ryan pauses, taking a breath, but it’s a second long reprieve; Ryan takes his legs and rearranges them, so Shane’s ankles are on Ryan’s shoulders, and Ryan gets so much deeper like this, nearly folding Shane in half. He doesn’t know what else to do other than grab the bedsheets when Ryan starts moving again, thrusting inside of him, giving Shane exactly what he needs to moan loudly into the bedroom, calling out Ryan’s name, like it's the only thing his mind remembers how to say. 

“Yeah? You need _me_?” 

“Oh, my God,” Shane pants, and Ryan grips the tops of his thighs, relentless. 

_Ryan, Ryan, Ryan_ , he pleads, begging. He touches himself, wraps his hand around his cock which has left a steady wetness on his belly. 

The flex of Ryan’s arms is inspired; when it’s over, Shane might just draw out his every-six-months journal and write a note or two about how good Ryan looks when he fucks, the furrow of his brow, the part of his mouth, the rush of his breath. How hot his skin is, how sweaty he gets, how Shane knows his hands could leave bruises in their wake with how well he makes Shane feel him. 

The slick give and take of Ryan's cock is just enough to make Shane wild, spoils him for any other body that exists. There’s no one that knows him like Ryan does, even the parts Shane is normally so content to leave under lock and key, in a shadowy corner, in a place where no one knows. Ryan’s curiosity ruins all of that, ruins him, shines a spotlight and exposes everything he’s fought so hard to hide.

“I want you to come,” Ryan grunts, dropping his hold on Shane’s legs, and Shane tucks them in close, pinning them to Ryan’s ribcage as Ryan reaches between their bodies and grasps his hand around Shane’s cock, stroking quick, in time with the hard rhythm of his hips. It builds and builds, Shane’s hands on Ryan’s shoulders as Ryan leans in, watching him so closely, with those big, wide brown eyes. It doesn’t take long for Ryan to break him apart. 

No, not long at all. 

It starts with the welling in his eyes, that he furiously tries to blink away, keeping them closed even though the tears bleed through and drip off the sides of his face. It’s hot, his whole body recklessly on fire when Ryan fucks in just right, hitting all the right spots, gripping his cock just tight enough that Shane comes with a faint cry of Ryan’s name, bowing into Ryan’s body as he gasps, hips shifting hard, unevenly. 

“There you go,” Ryan murmurs gently. “God, look at you.” Even through the haze of his blood rushing through his ears, his own gasping breath, the way his body tenses and releases, Shane can still hear the reverence of Ryan’s voice, so sweet it reaches inside of him and curls around the ventricles of his heart, ties itself like a ribbon. 

As he comes down, Ryan’s gazing down at him, combing his fingers through Shane’s hair, shallow thrusts that send shocks ricocheting through his whole body, shaking in Ryan’s arms. Shane puts both his hands on Ryan’s face and brings him in, brings him close, his body aching and tired, but still so desperate and keyed up, waiting to feel Ryan work himself through it, too. 

“Come on,” Shane murmurs, still breathing so hard. “Fuck me, Ryan.” 

Ryan’s eyes close and his grip on Shane’s thigh is merciless when he widens the spread of his legs, quickening the pace of his hips, taking, taking, taking. Shane’s body tenses; he’s so sensitive, his spent cock rubbing against Ryan’s stomach, ass raw against the bedsheets, but it does nothing to quiet him. He gasps, moans, an echo of Ryan’s groaning, pressing his fingers along Ryan’s shoulders. 

Ryan gets noisier the closer he gets, and Shane, with words catalogued in his brain, slides his hand from Ryan’s shoulder to the base of Ryan’s neck, thumbing over his throat. Ryan’s eyes are dark, and he drops forward to kiss Shane, whispers, “Put your hand around my neck, sweetheart,” right against his mouth. 

Shane does, presses in at the sides, just enough to hear the hitch in Ryan’s breath, feel the shudder of his body. He bows into Shane, crisp curses falling from his lips until he gasps Shane’s name, soft and startled, hips snapping hard into Shane’s, grinding out his climax against Shane’s sore ass, spilling his release inside of Shane so their sex turns noisy, filthy; it’s hot, so hot though, to feel himself become so wet from it, warm. Shane eases his hand and Ryan takes a gasping breath. 

“ _Shane.”_

Ryan collapses against him and Shane wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders, holding him as Ryan breathes heavy against his collar bones. It’s not even a few seconds before Ryan moves like he’s going to get up, but Shane tightens his hold. 

“No, no, not yet,” Shane says, tired, his voice slurred just a little. He presses his hand low along Ryan’s spine, keeping him there.

And for a little while longer, Ryan lays against him, still deep inside of him as he kisses along the side of Shane’s neck, underneath his jaw. 

“Hey,” Ryan whispers into his skin. Shane closes his eyes. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad it’s you, too,” Ryan confesses.

Shane feels like he’s been turned inside out, emptied, and Ryan’s relentless with his gentle praise, his adoration, gentle with his fingers when he touches Shane’s face and kisses him all too softly. 

-:- 

Shane’s half-sleeping, rolled onto his stomach with his face in the pillows. There’s a horrible ache in his hips, his back, a dull throb radiating from his ass. He’s sticky all over, but exhaustion keeps him heavy and he sinks into the mattress, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Shane?” 

Ryan’s voice is soft, and Shane opens his eyes, blinking until Ryan’s face comes into focus. He’s kneeling at the side of the bed, rubbing his hand over Shane’s back. 

Shane grunts. 

“We gotta clean up. I’m not going to let you sleep like this.” 

“It’s fine,” Shane insists. “I’m so tired.” 

“I know you are. But the water’s warm and it’ll be quick, I promise,” Ryan murmurs. 

Shane shakes his head, and Ryan laughs, and something about the sound makes Shane’s chest burst into an assorted array of pastel colors. He opens his eyes and Ryan’s smile is gentle, his eyes fond. 

“That smile is a weapon,” Shane mutters, and Ryan laughs again, loud and big and Shane loves it. He really does. 

“Come _on_ ,” Ryan tries again. Shane sighs, rolling onto his back, his whole body fighting to lay back down as aching burning pain shoots up his back. He stands up and Ryan takes his hand, pulls him along into the garish light of the bathroom. Ryan’s drawn a bath and the water is a fizzy green. 

“Is that glitter?” 

Ryan shrugs. “I didn’t realize. You get to be a sparkly boy tonight.” 

Shane chuckles and walks towards the bathtub; Ryan steps in first, and sits against the back, and Shane, debates sitting on the other side, but he mentally shrugs at himself and sits between the cradle of Ryan’s thighs. Water sloshes over the lip, splashing onto the floor. 

The bath is very warm, and the smell of pine permeates the air. Leaning back against Ryan’s chest, Shane lets his head fall back against Ryan’s shoulder as Ryan’s arms come around his waist, and his lips press gently against Shane’s cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired mostly,” Shane says, punctuating his answer with a yawn. 

“Your body?” Ryan inquires, laying another kiss to his neck.

“Good. Sore in some notable places,” Shane sighs. 

“How’s the weather in your brain?” Ryan murmurs, kissing Shane’s temple. 

“Sunny, no chance of showers.” Shane smiles when Ryan laughs, a tiny huff of breath that makes Shane’s chest tighten. “Honestly, I’m good, Ry.” 

“Okay. I'm just—I just want to make sure.” 

“Are you going to stay the night?” Shane asks. 

“I mean, I sort of expected to,” Ryan says, his voice the tone of something that reminds Shane of _shy_. 

“Good. Gonna just—kinda just want to sleep next to you.” 

Ryan is silent for a moment, and when Shane turns to look at him, Ryan’s just got his head back, like he might be looking up at the ceiling. 

“What?” 

Ryan grins when he looks down. “Usually, I set out to fuck the feelings out of your body, not into it.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure I have legs right now,” 

They both share a laugh that skirts what they’re really trying to say. Not that they didn’t enough during sex, but there’s something pristine about this moment, where their shared quiet is louder than any words they might say anyway. 

“Thank you,” Shane whispers. 

“For what?” 

Shane shrugs.

-:-

In the morning, Shane wakes up to Ryan snoring in bed next to him. Shane’s body aches something fierce, like a hangover, but his mind is clear. He looks at Ryan’s sleeping face, the laxity of his features, the open part of his mouth, and just lets his brain supply good chemical after good chemical until he feels like he’s a little delirious from it. 

He feels like Ryan’s too far away and he’s craving Ryan’s hands already—

Another problem to face later, but right now, he shifts a little closer and wraps his arm around Ryan’s waist, tucking himself in against Ryan’s sleep-warm, soft body. 

“Hey,” Ryan whispers. 

“Hey,” Shane whispers back. 

Ryan rubs his hand up Shane’s arm, slowly, gently, his body so relaxed underneath the bed sheets. When their legs tangle, he finds that Ryan’s still naked, just hot skin pressed into Shane’s body. He isn’t surprised; he knows he asked to sleep like this after he watched Ryan change the sheets of his bed and tugged him under the blankets. It’s just nice. Intimate.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, just like last night. 

“Like I never want to move.” 

They laugh and Ryan’s hand presses against his face, nudging him up for a kiss that reeks of morning breath they both ignore. 

“We don’t have to move,” Ryan says. 

“Okay.” 

So, they don’t. Not really anyway. It’s a disconnect from Shane’s normal reality. The few relationships he’s been in haven’t been _this_. 

Gentle light filters through the curtains, and Shane drifts back to sleep, his cheek against Ryan’s chest. When he wakes again, the light has changed to the bright gold of late morning. Ryan’s awake, scrolling through his phone one-handed. Shane peeks at his screen, finds it’s Twitter, tweets that Ryan scrolls past without really reading them. 

“Did I wake you?” Ryan wonders aloud.

Shane shakes his head. 

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah. Order something, though, I really don’t want to go anywhere or do anything.” 

Ryan laughs. “All right.” 

That’s how they spend the day. Ryan orders food, and they kiss until the morning breath is less than worth it, which sends them both to the bathroom to empty bladders and brush teeth. 

Shane’s hips ache; he’s aware he’s adopted some sort of waddle that makes Ryan grin. At least his ass isn’t throbbing, but when he rolls back into bed, he feels Ryan’s, uh, _handy_ work. 

Ryan is gracious enough to make them both coffee, and when he comes back into Shane’s bedroom, holding a pair of mugs and a bag of chips in his teeth, a riotous wave of fondness washes through every corner and curve of Shane’s body. As foreign as it is, Shane lets it ride, settling somewhere low in his lungs, making it feel like it’s hard to breathe. 

In the daylight, Ryan’s nakedness is startling, but Shane finds there’s nothing to be shy about. They drink their coffee and conversation flows freely, like it used to before Shane became a basket case, a frazzled mess at confronting his emotions. It’s Ryan. It’s just _Ryan_. 

When their food comes, they eat in bed, and Shane’s better now at letting Ryan pick off his plate, take a bite of his hash browns when Ryan's finished all of his. 

And when breakfast is finished, the conversation isn’t. It dawns on Shane, that the whole reason he hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place was because there was a bleak possibility that he might _lose_ this. Or that it might forcefully be taken from his hands and he wasn’t much for fighting for the things he desperately, _desperately_ wanted. 

It’s only been a half a day since Ryan tore him apart. And nothing, really, has changed. 

Ryan’s laughing against his mouth, tasting like scrambled eggs and strawberry jam, and Shane thinks about Ryan’s toothbrush next to his in the cup on the bathroom counter. 

Shane kisses him with purpose, to hell with every ache in his body, the way his limbs and muscles protest when he moves too fast. He’s chasing the feeling, the gentle heat of Ryan’s mouth on his own, kissing him so intently it carves him hollow, leaves him bare, like maybe, Shane doesn’t need to say it. Doesn’t need to say anything at all. 

But he knows he should. He knows he should stop kissing Ryan right now, shouldn’t let his body fall victim to the gloriously soft trip of Ryan’s fingers over his spine. He should pull away just to be closer. 

“Ryan,” Shane murmurs, leaning up on an elbow, leveling Ryan with a look, a shaky breath. 

“Yeah, big guy?” He reaches up and combs his fingers through Shane’s hair, all for naught because it falls back into Shane’s eyes. 

“I want you.” 

Ryan grins, and his hand drifts down Shane’s back, over the modest swell of his ass. “You feel up to it?” 

_Yes_ , he does, but— “That’s not what I meant.” 

Ryan’s brow knits together. “I mean, I can jerk you off—” 

Shane laughs, hanging his head. “I guess I shouldn’t have started it like that.” 

“Started what?” 

“I don’t know. I was so worried that—that it wouldn’t work.” 

“I told you, Shane,” Ryan says gently, cupping his hand over Shane’s cheek. “Just tell me what you want.” 

“You. This. I—” Shane takes a deep breath. “All of it. Taking you to dinner and bringing you home afterwards. Going places and taking pictures and _talking_. Whatever—you know. The components of a mature, adult, romantic relationship. With you.” 

Ryan smiles, a gentle curve of his lips that makes Shane’s heart flutter.

“It’s complicated. Because—because— _God._ ” Shane shrugs. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve felt _something_ for you for a while. Before the—uh. The _spanking_.” 

Ryan’s eyes go wide. “Like—what’s a while?” 

“I don’t really know. At some point, I just looked at you differently. And I just—I want to keep looking at you like that.” 

“Wow.” 

“Too much?” 

“Not even a little bit. Whatever you want, Shane, I want that. Whatever— _whatever_.” 

“Could be complicated—” 

“Don’t,” Ryan says. “Don’t go there. _Everything_ could be complicated. Just let yourself have what you want, Shane.” 

He leans in and kisses Ryan. He kisses Ryan and says, “Slowly, okay?” 

Ryan nods, and pushes him onto his back, and gives it to him with carefully measured rolls of his hips, hiding his face into Shane’s throat, holding his hands. 

Half past three in the afternoon, and all Shane wants is Ryan.

-:- 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3 [tumblr!](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/)


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